Part 68 (2/2)
”Clara's handkerchief! It was round her neck when I met her two days ago.”
”Ay! bless her!” was the old man's reply. ”And she's been clever enough to drop it where they turned off here, to let us know which way they have taken her. Lucky none of 'em didn't see her a-doin' it.”
”How fortunate you observed it! And now where does this lane lead to?”
”Well, that's what puzzles me,” returned Peter, rubbing his nose with an air of perplexity. ”It don't lead to anything except old Joe Hardman's mill. But they're gone down here, that's certain sure, for there was that handkerchief, and there's the mark of wheels and 'osses' feet.”
”Well, if it is certain they have gone that way,” continued I, ”let us lose no time in following them. How far off is this mill?”
”About a couple of miles out of the road, sir,” replied one of the postboys.
”Get on then,” said I; ”but mind you do not lose the track of their wheels. It's plain enough on the gravel of the lane.”
”All right, sir,” was the reply; and we again dashed forward.
As we got farther from the high road, the ruts became so deep that we were obliged to proceed at a more moderate pace. After skirting a thick wood for some distance, we came suddenly upon a small bleak desolate-looking common, near the centre of which stood the mill, which appeared in a somewhat dilapidated condition. A little half-ruinous cottage, probably the habitation of the miller, lay to the right of the larger building; but no signs of --451- Carriage or horses were to be perceived, nor, indeed, anything which might indicate that the place was inhabited.
As we drew up at the gate of a farmyard, which formed the approach both to the mill and the house, Peter Barnett again got down, and having carefully examined the traces of the wheel-marks, observed, ”they've been here, that I'll take my Bible oath on. The wheel-tracks go straight into the yard. But there's some fresh marks here I can't rightly make out. It looks as if a horse had galloped up to the gate and leaped hover it.”
”Wilford!” exclaimed I, as a sudden idea came into my head. ”We have not got to the truth of this matter yet, depend upon it. There is some collusion between Wilford and c.u.mberland.”
”Umph! rascals!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Frampton. ”But 'they shall both hang for it, if it costs me every farthing I possess in the world.”
”It's Mr Fleming's black mare as has been hover 'ere,” said one of the postboys, who, I afterwards learned, was a stable-helper at Barstone, and had volunteered to drive in the sudden emergency. ”I knows her marks from any hother 'orse's. She's got a bar-shoe on the near fore-foot.”
”Is there n.o.body here to direct us?” asked I. ”Let me out. Who is this miller, Peter?” I continued, as I sprang to the ground.
”Well, he's a queer one,” was the reply. ”n.o.body rightly knows what to make of him. He's no great good, I expects; but good or bad, we'll have him out.”
So saying, he opened the gate, and going to the cottage-door, which was closed and fastened, commenced a vigorous a.s.sault upon it. For some time his exertions appeared productive of no result, and I began to imagine the cottage was untenanted.
”We are only wasting our time to no purpose,” said I. ”Let us endeavour to trace the wheel-marks, and continue our pursuit.”
”I'm certain sure there's some one in the house,” rejoined old Peter, after applying his ear to the keyhole; ”I can hear 'em moving about.”
”We'll soon see,” replied I, looking round for some implement fitted for my purpose. In one corner lay a heap of wood, apparently part of an old paling. Selecting a stout post which had formed one of the uprights, I dashed it against the fastenings of the door with a degree of force which made lock and hinges rattle again. I was about to repeat the attack, when a gruff voice from within the house shouted, ”Hold hard there, I'm a-coming,” and -452-- in another minute the bolts were withdrawn, and the door opened.
”What do you mean by destroying a man's property in this manner?” was the salutation with which we were accosted.
The speaker was a short thick-set man, with brawny arms, and a head unnaturally large, embellished by a profusion of red hair, and a beard of at least a week's growth. The expression of his face, surly in the extreme, would have been decidedly bad, had it not been for a look of kindness in the eye, which in some degree redeemed it!
”What do you mean by allowing people to stand knocking at your door for five minutes, my friend, without taking any notice of them? You obliged us to use summary measures,” replied I.
”Well, I wor a-laying on the bed when you c.u.m. I slipped down with a sack of flour this morning, and hit my head, so I thought I'd turn in and take a snooze, do you see;” and as he spoke he pointed to his face, one side of which I now perceived was black and swollen, as if from a blow.
”That's a lie, Joe! and you knows it,” said Peter Barnett abruptly.
”You speaks pretty plainly at all events, Master Barnett,” was the reply, but in a less surly tone than he had hitherto used.
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