Part 47 (1/2)

”There was a Mister Yelland Mace, Sir, who paid his haddresses to her, and I do believe, Sir, she rayther liked him. I don't know, I'm sure, whether he was serious in 'is haddresses, but it looked very like as if he meant to speak; though I do suppose he was looking 'igher for a wife.

Well, he was believed to 'ave 'ad an 'and in that 'orrible business.”

”I know--so he undoubtably had--and the poor young lady, I suppose, was greatly shocked and distressed.”

”Yes, Sir, and she died about a year after.”

David Arden expressed his regret, and then he asked--

”You have often seen that man, Yelland Mace?”

”Not often, Sir.”

”You remember his face pretty well, I daresay?”

”Well, no, Sir, not very well. It is a long time.”

”Do you recollect whether there was anything noticeable in his features?--had he, for instance, a remarkably prominent nose?”

”I don't remember that he 'ad, Sir. I rather think not, but I can't by no means say for certain. It is a long time, and I 'aven't much of a memory for faces. There is a likeness of him among my poor niece's letters.”

”Really? I should be so much obliged if you would allow me to see it.”

”It is at 'ome, Sir, but I shall be 'ome to dinner before I go out to Mortlake; and, if you please, I shall borrow it of my sister, and take it with me.”

This offer David Arden gladly accepted.

When the events were recent, he could have no difficulty in identifying Yelland Mace, by the evidence of fifty witnesses, if necessary. But it was another thing now. The lapse of time had made matters very different. It was recent impressions of a vague kind about Mr. Longcluse that had revived the idea, and prompted a renewal of the search. Martha Tansey was aged now, and he had misgivings about the accuracy of her recollection. Was it possible, after all, that he was about to see that which would corroborate his first vague suspicions?

Sir Richard had a busy and rather hara.s.sing day, the first of his succession to an old t.i.tle and a new authority, and he was not sorry when it closed. He had stolen about from place to place in a hired cab, and leaned back to avoid a chance recognition, like an absconding debtor; and had talked with the people whom he was obliged to call on and see, in low and hurried colloquy, through the window of the cab. And now night had fallen, the lamps were glaring, and tired enough he returned to his lodgings, sent for his tailor, and arranged promptly about the

”----inky cloak, good mother, And customary suits of solemn black;”

and that done, he wrote two or three notes to kindred in Yorks.h.i.+re, with whom it behoved him to stand on good terms; and then he determined to drive out to Mortlake Hall. An unpleasant mixture of feelings was in his mind as he thought of that visit, and the cold tenant of the ancestral house, whom in the grim dignity of death, it would not have been seemly to leave for a whole day and night unvisited. It was to him a repulsive visit, but how could he postpone it?

Behold him, then, leaning back in his cab, and driving through glaring lamps, and dingy shops, and narrow ill-thriven streets, eastward and northward; and now, through the little antique village, with trembling lights, and by the faded splendours of the ”Guy of Warwick.” And he sat up and looked out of the windows, as they entered the narrow road that is darkened by the tall overhanging timber of Mortlake grounds.

Now they are driving up the broad avenue, with its n.o.ble old trees clumped at either side; and with a shudder Sir Richard Arden leans back and moves no more until the cab pulls up at the door-steps, and the knock sounds through hall and pa.s.sages, which he dared not so have disturbed, uninvited, a day or two before. Crozier ran down the steps to greet Master Richard.

”How are you, old Crozier?” he said, shaking hands from the cab-window, for somehow he liked to postpone entering the house as long as he could.

”I could not come earlier. I have been detained in town all day by business, of various kinds, connected with this.” And he moved his hand toward the open hall-door, with a gloomy nod or two. ”How is Martha?”

”Tolerable, Sir, thankye, considerin'. It's a great upset to her.”

”Yes, poor thing, of course. And has Mr. Paller been here--the person who is to--to----”

”The undertaker? Yes, Sir, he was here at two o'clock, and some of the people has been busy in the room, and his men has come out again with the coffin, Sir. I think they'll soon be leaving; they've been here a quarter of an hour, and--if I may make bold to ask, Sir,--what day will the funeral be?”

”I don't know myself, Crozier; I must settle that with my uncle. He said he thought he would come here himself this evening, at about nine, and it must be very near that now. Where is Martha?”