Tangled Threads

Front matter

[/• 59- HE KNELT DOWN AND RAISED HER HEAD VERY TENDERLY Tangled Threads BY ESME STUART AUTHOR OF "A FAIRE DAMZEL," "JOAN VELLACOT." "MARRIED TO ORDER," ETC, etc. XonOon S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO. 8 and 9, PATERNOSTER ROW CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. AN INTERRUPTED CONVERSATION ... 5 II. A CONFESSION 15 III. TWO LOVERS . . . . . . '31 IV. A CONSULTATION 45 V. AN ACCIDENT ...... 56 VI. FOOTSTEPS . . . . . . -67 vii. mr. fleetwood's will 75 VIII. A STRANGER ...... 82 IX. TAKEN IN . . . . . 91 X. THAWING ICE ...... IOO XI. ENGAGED . . . . . . .Ill XII. NO APPEAL . . . . . . .121 XIII. THE KNELL 134 XIV. STRANDED . . . . . . .146 XV. WEAK OR WICKED . 1 52 XVI. UNLOOSING OLD MOORINGS .... Contents 4 PAGE CHAP. XVII. MAGENTA BOWS . . . • .109 XVIII. ELINOR'S CONFESSION . . • ll^> XIX. MRS. BILLING'S ARRIVAL . . . . 187 XX.

THE FROWN OF FATE . . . '94 XXI. HEMMED IN ..... 201 XXII. STEPHEN'S LOVE SCENE . . . .2 10 XXIII. A HIDDEN MINE ..... 2l8 XXIV. A SECRET MESSENGER .... 224 XXV. DUPED 234 XXVI. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR .... 24I XXVII. SERIOUS MISGIVINGS 250 XXVIII. LOST . . . . . . . 258 XXIX. THE MYSTERY SOLVED .... 269 XXX. THE SNARE LAID . . . . 277 XXXI. HEDGED IN ..... . 284 XXXII. HER WEDDING-DAY 29O XXXIII. THE EXPLOSION ..... 297 XXXIV. IN THE JAWS OF DEATH .... 304 XXXV. DISENTANGLED . . . -313

Chapter I An Interrupted Conversation It

was an afternoon which made even the beautiful Wyndland valley look dreary — an afternoon when the sound of the steady drip, drip from the eaves entered the very soul and spread deep despondency into the mind of man, even of such men as had, perhaps, no other known cause for their unusual depression. Just such an unreasoning despondency had taken hold of Stephen Barry as he stood by one of the library windows of Eston Grange. This window overlooked the path down the lovely glen. Out beyond the glen again might be seen the village of Wyndland, standing at the head of the lake which bears the same name. The whole view was one of almost unequalled beauty, which even men of the least romantic turn of mind were constrained to admire. Stephen did not look very young ; indeed, it would have been difficult to tell his exact age, for his manner was very composed, his dark hair, brushed off his low forehead, seemed almost to overpower the brows, whilst his deep-set eyes had a sad and therefore an attractive look in them.

His lips were thin and compressed, and further, his square-cut chin implied still greater decision of character. It was only when he spoke that one could forget the strong impression of unusual force of character visible in his face, for his voice was noticeably gentle and musical. Every now and then Stephen Barry glanced quickly away from the window to give a furtive glance at an old man who was sitting fast asleep in a wheel-chair. His head was thrown back, and his white hair made a strong contrast against the dark leather-covered back of the chair. His beard hid the outline of his face, but in this foreshortened position there was some thing very suggestive of death about the half-recumbent figure. Suddenly this idea seemed to enter Stephen Barry's mind, for, as if drawn away from his present position by some invisible agency, he walked very softly across the carpeted floor and approached the sleeper's chair.

As he did so some unusual nervous fear took possession of him ; a crowd of queer stories seemed to photograph themselves on his brain, and with that double expression of thought which the brain possesses, caused, as some scientific men tell us, by the not quite simultaneous action of the two brain lobes and the grey matter con tained therein, Stephen said to himself : "It is in this way that we hear murderers approach their victims. How ridiculous it is that such ideas come into one's head, just as if one had been studying nothing but criminal trials ! " However scientific we are inclined to be, and however much we may scoff at what cannot be proved, it is yet certain that the influence we possess does not altogether reside within the mind, but that there is also an attract ing power emanating from the body.

Often a sleeping person is conscious of the approach of a human being, and this unseen attraction is capable of disturbing the rest of one who is even in a deep sleep. When Stephen was within a few steps of the sleeper the latter moved uneasily. There was a slight con traction of the wrinkled brow, and one thin, withered hand fumbled nervously on the arm of the chair, as if seeking for something that was lost. These signs of returning consciousness caused old Mr. Fleetwood's relation to pause suddenly, and in another instant the sleeper roused himself and appeared to be wide awake. " Ah ! it's only you, Stephen. I fancied ■ Why, I have already forgotten ; but something woke me. What time is it ? And where is Nellie ? I think I can go to work again now." " There is no hurry, sir," said Stephen, in such a persuasive tone that a pleasant smile lighted up Mr. Fleetwood's face.

"The time just between the lights seems especially made to rest the weary brains of men. I remember so well when I was reading for my examination that I could not look at a book between the lights, though I have often sat up till the small hours without closing an eye." "It was a pity, Stephen, that your long illness caused you to give up all ideas of following a profession which you must have been eminently fitted to pursue." " It was really my father's fault as much as anything else," answered Stephen, sitting down close to Mr. Fleetwood, with his back to the window, and with the expression of his face entirely hidden by the gloom. The words were simple enough, and Mr. Fleetwood, being slightly deaf, did not catch the intonation of bitterness which another man would have easily detected.

" He was a bad man, Stephen — forgive me for saying so — -a bad man, and my pretty cousin should never have married him." " Bad ! " echoed Stephen Barry, sinking his voice, and with an increased tone of bitterness. " No human being knows, sir, what we suffered from him, my mother and I. Even when I was on what was nearly my death bed he pawned my clothes for the cursed drink. I gave you the outline, a very bare outline, whejn I first saw your advertisement for a secretary, but the real truth would be too painful to repeat. It is enough to have gone through it." " Poor Stephen ! " said Mr. Fleetwood. " But by this time you must nearly have forgotten the past." " Forgotten ! " said Barry, and this time his voice was slightly raised. " Forgotten — no, never ! Do you think one forgets a ruined youth — a ruined career ?

When my mother had saved a few sovereigns out of I know not what slender earnings — earnings for which she sat up night after night that I might not be altogether dependent on charity — I have known my father snatch them from her very hand. When I was working like ten men so that I might at least pass quickly through my examinations — for I had no time to waste when daily bread was never a certainty — even then he baulked me, and I fell ill from disappointed hopes, for I knew that I could then never expect to attain a position worthy of my birth. Yet I managed to fit myself for something better than he intended me to be. By that time, however, my health was very indifferent, but I could at least use a pen, and I worked like a slave. There really are such men, Mr. Fleetwood, as penny-a-liners."

A smile, born of intense bitterness, parted Stephen Barry's thin lips, but happily Mr. Fleetwood did not see it. " But your father is dead," continued the old man, as if following some train of thought of his own, " and we believe that there is true judgment in another world meted out to all men." " Will that undo the evil done here ? " was the quick reply — a reply which only thinly veiled the speaker's disbelief in the future. " I am afraid, sir, some of us come out of mortal fire with a very faint belief in the immortal furnace. I know it is the fashion to for give the sins of the dead ; for my part, my hatred is undying." Mr. Fleetwood sat up in his chair, and the slight contraction of brow was again visible ; he had never heard Stephen talk so fiercely, for usually the man whom he had taken into his house two years ago as his private secretary was the personification of patience and gentleness.

It was only when he had been some months in the house that Mr. Fleetwood discovered that Stephen Barry was the son of a distant cousin of his own, whom he had once seen as a pretty little girl of eight years old. He had at first had some difficulty in overcoming his repugnance to employ a secretary whose past history was veiled in an obscurity which he would not willingly reveal ; but pity had carried the clay, and the old man had not regretted his decision, for his secretary had in a thousand ways made himself necessary to him. " No, no," replied Mr. Fleetwood ; " you must not speak so harshly of the past. I think, indeed I trust, that since you have been here you have found happier relationships than those you had to put up with in your youth. After all, many a great man has begun with less than a shilling in his pocket, and in more prosperous days he forgets the days of poverty, or only looks back on them with pride."

Stephen rose gently from his chair, and stooped clown to pick up a paper that had fallen from a table near at hand before he answered : " I expect such a man, if he had experienced what I have gone through, does not forget it, Mr. Fleetwood. I expect that he would rather face anything than sink back once more into the black pit where all his evil thoughts found their birth. If there was such a prospect for him, then, I believe that all laws, both moral and social, would appear to him not worth a moment's consideration." Stephen Barry paused, then making a great effort over himself, the visible signs of which were hidden by the gathering darkness, he laughed cheerfully, and added : " Really, sir, I must beg your pardon for adding to the outside dreariness by my sad recollections. I was forgetting my duties, but sometimes the much-abused weather deserves all the evil spoken against it.

In spite of oneself it influences one's whole nature, and trans forms one's natural character. Shall I ring for the lamp ? " " No, wait a moment," answered Mr. Fleetwood, holding out his thin hand to emphasise his words. " I want to say a few words to you about Nellie. You told me this morning that you thought her mind was getting restless ; in fact, I think you hinted that you thought the quiet life she has always led here was beginning to weary her." " I think, sir, that I hardly implied as much as you have construed from my words. I simply meant that — well, Miss Elinor was a child when I came. I believe she was then fifteen, though no one would have guessed it, but now she is more than seventeen, and naturally the world must have a new aspect for her. I see at times that the expression of her face becomes almost pensive."

" Yes, I see ; but I hope that you will allow that you may be mistaken ? For myself, I never see any signs of dulness in Nellie, but I am most anxious to gratify her inclination. I might have sent her to school, but I made a vow that Nellie should not be the plaything of the world ; I shut myself up in this lonely house and in this secluded valley in order to avoid society, and I want Nellie to do the same. As long as I live this is easy. Nellie will never leave me, but when I die — that is what now troubles me. Suppose some unprincipled man should win her affection ; suppose that she should be married for the sake of her wealth — it is this thought which disturbs me. Her mother, after my son's death, wrecked her life in this way, and I made up my mind at any cost to save her child from the same fate ; but we cannot know the day of death, Barry, and an old man ought to be fully prepared for it."

" If I were in your place, sir, I should not let this thought trouble me," answered Stephen, in his usual genUe voice, all trace of his recent agitation having entirely disappeared. " I fancy that there are ways of guarding your granddaughter ; indeed, several imme diately occur to me." " Ah ! " said Mr. Fleetwood, quickly turning his head so as to face the speaker, " I wish you would tell me your ideas -on the subject ; I want to consult with you, for you have a clear brain and good judgment indeed " But at the moment there was a soft knock at the door, and most unwillingly the old man said, " Come in," while Stephen Barry rose and moved away to wards the window, though his eager glance at once followed the movements of the intruder as the fading light fell on the graceful form of Elinor Fleetwood.

Her dress was of the simplest make, showing no trace of extreme fashion. Her hair, of a true auburn tint, was plaited in great coils round her well-shaped head, and no strange fringe of curls or other unnatural helps to beauty disfigured the pure outline of her forehead. Elinor stepped into the room with that firm, light step which denotes a good walker, and her voice, as she spoke, was clear, sweet, and tender. Her face was not fully perceived in the gathering gloom, but Stephen knew every feature by heart, so that he could mentally fill up the outline. " Grandfather," she exclaimed, " you two have really done enough business for to-day ; and how dark you are in here ! I wanted to come in some time ago, but you were so quiet that I expect one or both of you were fast asleep." As she said this Nellie laughed, and then she knelt down by the wheel-chair and put one hand on her grandfather's shoulder.

Stephen Barry turned his head towards the speaker and listened attentively. "Well, perhaps I did have a nap, Miss Nellie," said the old man, stroking the soft hair ; "but I must have the lamp brought in, so as to continue our work. That kind Stephen is indefatigable. And how have you amused yourself to-day, clear ? " " Well, it has been a miserably wet day. Do you know, grandfather, that Mrs. Shotto tells me I ought to say ' an uncomfortable day ' ? We walked down the glen to the village, and went to see old Betty, and then we struggled down to the side of the lake, and such furious gusts of wind came up the valley that we were fairly driven back, and then, when the wind ceased, down came the rain." There was not a look of care or a shade of dulness or vain longing on Elinor's face, so that her grandfather, for the moment, doubted whether Stephen were right ; but then he reflected that Stephen was very observant and very clever, so that he could not really be mistaken.

"And when you came in, what did you do, little one ? " "We have been turning out the store cupboard so as to have the list ready for Geordie to-morrow when he goes to Blackrock. Then we sat down to our reading and needlework ; and now, grandfather, I have come to protest against your dictating anything more to-day. I thought that you looked tired at luncheon-time." " Stuff and nonsense, Nellie ! " said the old man, pinching the soft, round cheek. " Stephen, ring for the lamp, if you please. I think I may release you for to-day ; we will resume the catalogue of the letters to-morrow." Stephen Barry rang the bell, and then walked quietly away, having assured himself that, for the present, Nellie had taken a seat near the chair, and that her grandfather had not the heart to send her away. But though not altogether sorry to have done for this day with faded letters belonging to a past generation, Stephen's feelings were somewhat mixed.

He had been on the verge of a very interesting conversation with Mr. Fleetwood, and he felt annoyed that Miss Elinor had interrupted them just at the critical moment. There were, however, other tumultuous thoughts jostling each other through his excited brain, and, hastily putting on his great-coat, he gladly plunged into the glen in order to bring some order into his ideas. Perhaps his visions were too numerous to detach themselves clearly from the confusion of his mind, but as he walked on and on, with the cold rain beating against his face, and the view of the grey lake passing unheeded before his eyes, two ideas at last became slowly prominent to his psychic plane, and, gradually shaping themselves into words, they rang in his ears as if some human voice were really uttering them. " Yes, he speaks quite openly to me about her ; he consults me about her future.

I am nothing, really nothing, to him ; my identity, as far as this matter is concerned, never troubles him. Good and kind as he believes himself to be, he is like the rest of the world ; and because I am poor, I am of no more account than his bailiff or his butler, and yet I feel that I have the power to teach him otherwise." At first the words came slowly and indistinctly, then, by repetition, they sounded clearer, till gradually the whole sentence was burnt into his brain. When he grew tired of that, the other idea was subjected to the same mental process. " He is afraid of her falling a prey to some unscrupu lous man. There is none such in this desolate region — none. Then let her stay here always ; it can easily be managed — easily." After a time, Stephen wearied of his repetition, and like a storm which ends at last with slow, pattering rain, he said gently : " It can easily be managed — easily."

He had now reached the other side of the lake, which ran for several miles between the hills of the Wyndland valley ; but now all the beauty was hidden, and there was no time to proceed further and to follow the river which, issuing at the other end of the lake, flowed on to the sea, and emptied itself in the ocean at the little fishing town of Blackrock. Stephen suddenly remembered that he must not be late for dinner, so, looking at a common silver watch lately bought by him, he retraced his steps. It was on this side that the famous Wyndland quarry was situated, a quarry which, though small in extent, was very valu able to its owner, Master Evanson, as his men called him, and he employed all the able-bodied men of the village. Hardly had Stephen Barry reached that part of the road that bordered the quarries, when he came face to face with the owner's son, Donald Evanson, who had only lately come home to work at his father's business.

Owing to the mist that now was fast rising from the spongy ground, the two men almost ran up against each other before they became aware that they were not alone in the road. Stephen started as if some one had overheard him talking aloud, but the frank, pleasant expression of Donald's face was not suggestive of mystery, and with a sudden smile, Stephen acknowledged the greeting of the young Mr. Evanson. This meeting effectually dispersed his disturbing thoughts, for it recalled to Mr. Fleetwood's secretary that he had a strong, if unreasoning objection to the quarryman's son, so he now hurried on to Eston Grange without further reflection upon the subject of Elinor Fleetwood.

Chapter II

A CONFESSION OLD Master Evanson belonged to a type of Englishman fast disappearing now that modern education has made such progress. Few will deny that education is a priceless boon, but then no good thing is altogether without its drawbacks, and education might easily have spoilt James Evanson, who was one of Nature's masterpieces. Born with keen wits, shrewd judgment, and a perseverance not to be conquered, the lad, who was merely a cottager's son, had risen to be a rich man, and what was better, a man whom everyone, especially his own workmen, respected, and spoke well of. Honest dealings, honest purpose, hatred of fraud in any and every shape, and a blameless life — all these marked the career of Evanson, and now as a white haired man he could walk round his domain without fearing to meet a single enemy.

Master Evanson had possessed a large tract of land on the side of the lake, opposite to where Eston Grange was situated. On part of the property stood the famous quarry which had made the owner's name and fortune ; but higher up the lake he had enclosed a lovely tract of land, including a spur of the Blackcap Hill, which gradually sloped down to the edge of the blue water. At a short distance from the water there was a strip of level ground, and on this Evanson had built himself a very substantial house. Of course, he had made use of the famous stone for his building, and further, he called the house "Quarry House." His life was, and always had been, bound up in his occupation, and he never dreamt of identifying himself with anything above it. Though fortune had so abundantly favoured Master Evanson, it did not occur to him that money could alter his position.

He had always been a hard-working man, and he had never pretended to be a gentleman, for pretence was as far removed from his nature as was fraud. He knew that he was one of the toilers of the world, and he was proud of it. His hands were hardened by toil, and his education, that is his book-learning, was extremely slight. He gave honour to whom honour was due, and was as willing to touch his cap to Mr. Fleetwood, the representative of an old family, as his own workmen were to show him the respect clue to him as their master. Many and many a sermon had the stones preached to Master Evanson as on fine Sunday evenings he would go and sit in the silent quarry, and view with quiet reverence the half-hewn blocks, or gaze with dumb emotion on some newly revealed seam of the beautiful Wyndland stone.

Evanson's life had not been exempt from sorrows, even though he had had but little share in forging them, and they had left their trace on the old man's face. Sometimes whilst sitting in a sheltered spot in the quarry, he would look back on his past life and give thanks that now the bitterness was over, and that he could forgive her who had made him suffer. He knew that his own life was drawing to a close, and that by and by Donald would have to bear the whole burden of the business, and that he would also have to be a father to Petra. Even now he often rehearsed the sad past, and he seemed to see again the wife he had loved so tenderly setting him at defiance, and showing no love or tenderness towards him. He remembered how he had borne with her fretfulness and with her impatience but he had never given in to her extravagance, neither had he ever allowed her to make others suffer for her selfishness ; but then came a period over which he always drew a veil.

He, too, had felt the strokes of the iron, and it had entered into his soul, for his wife had forsaken him ; and she left her three children and her husband to follow another who was, as she said, a real gentleman, and could make a lady of her. Master Evanson had, even then, not cursed God, but he had bowed his head before the fiery blast, and then he had worked harder than ever so as to crush remem brance. No one had ever spoken to him on the subject. His hair had become white whilst still young, his eyes had lost some of their old fire, but they had not looked more fiercely at any human creatures ; only his children had learnt that a man may become both a father and a mother to his motherless little ones. Then his children rose up before his mental vision. Donald — -God bless him ! — he had never been a trouble ; but little Bob, he was his mother over again, and so he had received infinite love and care, which had not altogether been wasted, for the lad had taken to a sea life, and though wild at times, his father's patience was bearing fruit.

And then Petra — called after the beloved stone of the quarry — well, Petra made his old heart beat a little with honest pride as he looked at her beauty and noted her cleverness. It was a pity that Petra was born a woman, but, after all, there was no fear of her following in her mother's footsteps, unless she was carried away by her great power of loving. Petra, he knew, was a lass to make any father proud, and yet the thought of her often gave him many an anxious hour, for she, at all events, had received the education of a lady. What money could do for the quarryman's only daughter, money had done. Elinor Fleetwood had hardly ever been out of the Wyndland valley, but Petra had been to school in London, and knew "a sight of things" which quite passed Master Evanson's understanding. It was only about Petra that he had had thoughts above his station.

A good bit of learning, he argued, never hurt a woman — it rooted out her follies ; and Petra was well worthy of anything and everything which he could give her. It was only just lately that Petra had returned home, and for a little while Master Evanson had feared that this fine, tall lady would never put up with her homely old father ; but he need not have troubled himself on this account. Petra Evanson was her father's own daughter. Strong common-sense, allied to strong men tal powers, had made Petra no mere doll, no spoilt woman, and yet she had to pay toll, as do most mortals sooner or later for their gifts. But for her at present Quarry House was a very happy spot, and ideas of trouble were not cultivated. All minds are happily formed for joy, otherwise humanity would long ago have trampled out hope, and the race would have died of despair.

On this special evening, standing in the parlour of Quarry House — for Mr. Evanson never would call any room a drawing-room — Petra was also looking out at the dreary drip of the rain. The dwellers at Eston Grange looked down upon the glen, and possessed only a distant view of the lake, but at Quarry House, on the contrary, there was only a lawn, and then a small wooded copse separating them from the water's edge. The house was just enough raised above the level to enjoy a full view of the lake, and right across it to the opposite shore bordered by wooded hills ; and from the midst of these woods the gables and the upper windows of Eston Grange peeped out like a bird from its nest. Petra dearly loved this new home, for formerly the Evansons had lived at Blackrock. When riches in creased the old man had at last decided to build him self this beautiful house, so that Petra might come home and live in the midst of the lovely scenery.

She knew every step of this side of the valley, as most of it was her father's property, and she was full of delight at coming back to live near to her beloved lake. She possessed the passionate love of nature which is born with people, and which is hardly ever an acquired taste. Now, as she stood watching the driving mist, she looked as if she too were carved out of that fine Wyndland stone, so soft when first taken out of its hiding-place, but so soon hardening into strength. Not that Petra looked white ; on the contrary, she had a healthy colour, a firm, well-cut face, and a look of power that somewhat annoyed the few young men she had happened to meet in her London life. Some times her father would say : " Petra's a bit of virgin stone ; the grain is the right sort, not loose nor letting in the water easily.