Torwood's trust

or did not return to Ladywell until late at night, having missed a train at one of the junctions, where his cross route obliged him to change.

Maud, therefore, said nothing to him about Mrs. Belassis’ strange behaviour until the following afternoon, when they rode out together, and then she told him as much as she knew of this oddly-timed visit.

‘Wanted to see me, did she?’ said Tor. ‘I wonder what for. I’ll call at Thornton House this evening and ask. I can walk over after dinner.’

‘Oh no, don’t!’ cried Maud coaxingly. ‘The evenings are so dull without you. Never mind Aunt Celia. She is quite horrid. Let her come again if she wants you. I believe it was just a lie.’

‘Come, little sister, don’t be spiteful. I know Mrs. Belassis does not greatly love either of us, still we must be civil as long as we can, or we put ourselves at a disadvantage.’

‘I know I do,’ assented Maud. ‘I can’t manage as you do; I wish I could. She would give anything to be able to put you into a rage as she puts me; but she never can.’

Tor smiled calmly.

‘Just so; and I have no intention of affording her that gratification.’

‘It must be nice to be a man—a man like you, I mean,’ said Maud, regarding him with a loving admiration distinctly flattering to its object. Then, after a pause, she added, ‘I wonder what Aunt Celia really came for.’

‘You think she had some ulterior motive?’

‘I don’t need to think—I know she had,’ cried Maud. ‘I saw it by the look in her eye—just like a snake. I haven’t lived eighteen years in Thornton House for nothing, Phil.’

‘Phil’ rode on in silence, wondering if there could be any truth in Maud’s surmise; for he was convinced that Mrs. Belassis was his enemy, and a more dangerous one than her husband.

Pondering, however, did not bring him any nearer the truth; so he gave up puzzling his head about the matter, and determined to take this opportunity to speak to Maud about Lewis Belassis.

‘Maud,’ he began, ‘when is your birthday?’

‘Three weeks next Wednesday,’ answered the girl promptly.

‘And you will then be twenty-four?’

‘Yes.’

Maud looked at him, and he looked at her, and then she broke into a little soft laugh.

‘You dear old Phil, you are so handsome! I wish I could marry you!’

A curious thrill ran through Tor, and his eyes were eloquent, but he only answered coolly enough:

‘But as you cannot—what then, Maud?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered; and her face took the spoilt-child expression which thoughts of Lewis Belassis almost always brought.

‘You have not made up your mind?’

‘No; I can’t.’

‘But it will be expected of you soon, will it not?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. I know on my birthday I am to hear the will read, and a letter papa left with it for me. I believe I shall be expected to give my answer then, though the money can’t be divided till a little while later. Phil, do you think it would be unfair to Lewis to keep him waiting any longer?’

‘I don’t think you’ll gain anything by waiting, Maud. I should say the wisest plan would be to get the matter off your mind, one way or the other, as soon as you can. I imagine you’ll feel exactly as you do now, a year hence, in regard to Lewis. If you haven’t fallen in love with him all these years, you are hardly likely to do so now.’

‘I should never be in love with Lewis—never!’ cried Maud, almost disdainfully. ‘Fancy feeling sentimental over a man like that! But then, I do like him, and I might never meet anyone I liked so well; and there is my money, you know.’

‘Don’t think about the money, Maud,’ said Tor quickly. He would have liked to promise there and then, that she should never feel the need of that—to tell her that he would make the loss good; but he could hardly hand over £10,000 of Phil’s money so coolly, even though he felt sure of his ultimate approval: and gladly as he would have sacrificed his own fortune to her, he knew that there was only one way by which his wealth could be made hers, and that way was, as yet, closed to him.

‘I can’t help thinking about it,’ answered Maud. ‘If I had come of age at twenty-one, as other girls do, I should not have thought as I do now. Five thousand would have seemed riches, and love in a cottage the ideal of bliss. I should have sent Lewis about his business in double-quick time then, and bought the little cottage behind Roma’s studio, and lived there in glorious independence. At twenty-one we know nothing of life, and are filled to the brim with romance. But three more years teach us a good deal;’ and Maud shook her head gravely. ‘Things take very different proportions, and we see that life isn’t just what we pictured. Do you think papa knew that when he fixed my majority?’

‘No; but I have no doubt Belassis did.’

‘Uncle Belassis!’ cried Maud. ‘What has he to do with it?’

‘Everything, I imagine. Do you suppose our father would have made such an iniquitous will except under compulsion?’

Maud’s face changed visibly.

‘But Uncle Belassis says——’

‘That for what he says.’

Gradually Maud seemed to take in the true meaning of Tor’s words.

‘Oh!’ she said, and stopped short. ‘Oh! so that’s how it was! I wonder I did not think of it before. Phil, you don’t want me to marry Lewis Belassis?’

‘Perhaps not; but I wish you to decide for yourself—to be guided by your own wishes.’

Tor was anxious, if possible, not to interfere in Maud’s decision. He had a strong hope that she would of her own accord reject Lewis.

‘Papa wished it,’ she said, hesitating.

‘Indeed!’

‘You think not? Could Uncle Belassis have had so much power as all that?’

‘Could your father have cared so much for a little snuffling brat of five years old, as Lewis was at the time of the making of that will?’

Maud considered this aspect of the case with some gravity.

‘Yes, he certainly would be a “little snuffling brat” at that age—I can just see him, though I can’t remember him, as you can. I’ll tell him some day of your description; it is so vivid.’

‘Do; and if you want to know whether the match was approved by other members of the family, you can ask Aunt Olive what she thinks.’

‘I know she doesn’t like it.’

‘And I have a letter at home from our great-uncle, Mr. Maynard, expressing distinct disapproval, and speaking in no measured terms of his opinion of Belassis’ share in the matter.’

Maud began to look amused and interested.

‘Old Uncle Maynard wrote about it, did he? Oh, you must let me see the letter! I am sure it will be delightfully funny; he was such a dear, cross old man, and I was always so cheeky to him. The Belassis’ were furious because he took more notice of me than of anybody else, though that didn’t come to much; but I should like to see the letter.’

‘I’ll show it you when we go in,’ said Tor, and then let the talk glide into other channels. He considered that he had given Maud food for meditation sufficient for one day, and decided not to press for an answer, until she had well thought over the information he had bestowed.

Maud did not forget her curiosity about her great-uncle’s letter, and as soon as they returned from their ride she followed Tor into his study, and begged him to produce it.

‘I know it will be so queer!’ she said, a smile of anticipation curving her pretty mouth.

Tor unlocked the drawer, and put in his hand. He took out Maud’s letter with the elastic band round it; but no other paper was with it. He pulled open the drawer to its utmost limit, and looked again, but the paper was evidently not there.

‘It’s gone!’ he ejaculated, in some surprise.

‘Try the next,’ suggested Maud.

‘No good,’ he answered, shaking his head. ‘’Twas only the day I left, that I locked up the letters about Tor’s business in the opposite drawer, where I keep everything relating to him; and I opened this one too, and saw old Maynard’s letter lying with yours, strapped together. I could take my oath of it.’

‘Witchcraft!’ said Maud; and then her face grew grave suddenly, and she added significantly: ‘Witchcraft, or Aunt Celia.’

‘Couldn’t have been Aunt Celia. The drawer was locked,’ said Tor.

‘Then it must have been a ghost,’ said Maud seriously. ‘For nobody else could have opened a locked drawer.’

The two looked at each other in silence.

‘You think her capable of such an act?’

‘She is capable of anything.’

Tor considered, and failed to see any motive for the robbery.

‘It was a misanthropical letter, anything but complimentary to the Belassis family; but I can’t see why she should have purloined it. It is not a paper they would care to study long or frequently, I imagine.’

Maud’s face had clouded over.

‘Aunt Celia always knows what she is about. You may be sure that that paper is of more value than you know.’

‘If so,’ said Tor composedly, ‘I will take care to get it back pretty quickly. I am going over there to-night. In all probability I shall bring it back with me.’

Maud looked admiringly at him, but shook her head.

‘You won’t if Aunt Celia wants it; besides, you cannot ask for it.’

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said Tor, and Maud wondered which half of the sentence he was answering.

After dinner, in the soft summer twilight, he walked over to Thornton House. Maud accompanied him through the park, but he would not let her come farther, nor be present at his interview with the aunt, about which she felt very curious.

After she had turned back, he pursued his way slowly, thinking over what he should say to her, and also to Belassis, if he should, as was not improbable, have to encounter them both. On the whole, he felt he would rather face the two together than meet them singly.

In this fortune favoured him. Lewis had taken his sisters to a dinner-party in the neighbourhood, and Mr. and Mrs. Belassis were in earnest talk together in the drawing-room, when the door was suddenly opened, and the servant announced in loud tones:

‘Mr. Debenham!’

From the distinct start and shuffle that followed, Tor was convinced that he had interrupted a conversation in which his name occupied a prominent place. In nowise disconcerted, however, he walked up and shook hands in his easiest fashion, and then sat down in such a position as commanded a good view of both the countenances before him.

‘I hear you walked over to see me yesterday morning,’ began Tor, addressing Mrs. Belassis. ‘I am sorry you had your trouble for nothing. I have come over to learn the object of your visit, and save you the trouble of a second walk.’

‘Oh, thank you—I am sorry you took the trouble. I merely came to ask if you could supply us with butter for a time. I suppose it must be the hot weather, for we cannot make half enough for ourselves just now.’

‘So that was the important message that could not be trusted to paper,’ said Tor, with a smile. ‘Yes, certainly you shall have all you need. I will speak to the man to-morrow. I am sorry such a small affair should have occasioned you so long a walk.’

‘It did not, thanks; I was close to Ladywell as it happened, and I wanted to see your aunt.’

Tor knew she had made no attempt to see Mrs. Lorraine, and his slight questioning smile said as much; but he made no open comment. Mrs. Belassis sat stonily composed. If she had any inward trepidation she gave no outward sign of it.

Tor turned to the uncle.

‘We are getting almost dried up here in the south, sir. We look quite parched. In Yorkshire now, everything is beautifully fresh—though not so forward as with us.’

‘You have been in Yorkshire, then?’ questioned Mrs. Belassis, as if she welcomed the change of subject.

‘Yes, upon some business of Mr. Torwood’s. It’s a fine county, I should say, by what I saw of it. Do you know it at all, sir?’

‘I—oh—Yorkshire, did you say?’ said Belassis, seemingly rather flustered by the sudden query. ‘Why, Yorkshire is a big place, you know. Yes, to be sure, I was there once, when I was a lad; but that’s a long time ago now;’ and he gave rather a sickly laugh.

Tor fancied that his wife noticed his constrained manner, and glanced curiously at him.

‘It was a pretty little town I had to visit, quite an ideal place for quiet picturesqueness. Whitbury was its name. I suppose you do not know anything of it?’

Mr. Belassis’ face seemed to turn all colours at once.

‘Whitbury—Whitbury!’ he stammered, with an immense effort to make his voice sound natural. ‘No, I don’t remember that name. I don’t think I could ever have been there.’

‘I am sure you would never have forgotten the place if you had seen it,’ continued Tor. ‘It is so particularly pretty. There is a fine old church there, and a river running through the valley, which is quite a resort for fishermen, I believe. I have some thoughts of going there again some day to fish. The Angler’s Arms is an inviting little inn. There is something very attractive to me in a simple little English town.’

‘Ah, yes—very—very much so,’ answered Belassis vaguely, feeling as though an iron hand was clutching at his throat, yet experiencing an insane desire to find out whether or not this detestable nephew was talking with a purpose.

The frank affable manner gave him a dim hope that all was well; but he dared not meet the eyes which perhaps would have told him more.

‘You—you—went on business for your friend, did you? How comes he to have business in Whitbury? I thought he had lived always abroad.’

‘He has property in Whitbury; a very charming old house inhabited by a very charming maiden lady. The house stands in a square, and faces the Minster, but looks behind on to a lovely stretch of country. Its mistress is a particularly clever and pleasant woman—a Miss Descartes—Miss Marjory Descartes as she seems to be always called.’

Belassis’ face had paled to a dull grey hue. His wife’s eyes were fixed upon it curiously and unquietly. Tor continued talking in the same frank, gossiping way.

‘It was some business about a new lease that took me down; but Miss Marjory and I became great friends. She was good enough to like me, and I was charmed with her. Perhaps some day I may have the pleasure of introducing her here. I have great hopes of inducing her to visit us at Ladywell some time or other.’

The dull grey hue changed to a delicate pea-green. Tor felt a sort of compassion for the miserable man before him. He had learnt all he wished to know. This man was none other than Nelly Roberts’s husband, and he had not made sure of her death before marrying again. Had he done that, he would hardly have been so hopelessly cowed. The discovery of a former marriage, and a low one, would be an awkward affair enough for him to face now; but would hardly account for such a depth of terror as was visible in his face.

As Tor, however, had found out what he wished, he rose to depart. His quick eyes had not been occupied altogether with the faces before him. He had caught sight of a corner of thick parchment-like paper projecting from a drawer in a small table, which was rather oddly placed in front of Mr. and Mrs. Belassis. He had heard a crackle of stiff paper as he entered the room.

By a quick, quiet movement, Tor reached forward and secured the paper; the drawer, of course, opened as he pulled, and disclosed to his view a number of soiled bread-crumbs and some pieces of india-rubber.

‘Rubbing out, by Jove!’ he thought to himself, and wondered what could have been accomplished by that process. Aloud he said:

‘Ah, my old uncle’s letter! How curious it should be here! I had just missed it from its accustomed place. What an old misanthrope he was! Not, I suppose, that he had any idea into whose hands it would fall. How could it have been spirited here?’

‘I brought it, Philip,’ answered Mrs. Belassis imperturbably. ‘I was just about to return it to you. I found it by chance in your room yesterday, as I was looking for some writing-paper. Curiosity prompted me to read it, and I could not refrain from bringing it back for your uncle to see. He is slow to believe the ingratitude of the world. I think that such expressions as are put down here, by a man who always received from him a respect and consideration he was far from deserving, should do much to convince him. I must apologize for the liberty I took with your property; but you were absent, and I thought you would not object.’

‘Oh, I have not the least objection in the world,’ answered Tor readily and pleasantly. ‘I had merely kept the contents of the paper to myself because they were not over and above flattering to those mentioned in it. What puzzles me is how you came to chance upon the letter, as it was always kept in a locked drawer.’

‘It was not there yesterday,’ answered Mrs. Belassis, the glittering look coming back into her eyes. ‘It was in the top right-hand drawer, where your writing-paper is stored.’

‘It must have been spirited there, then,’ laughed Tor, ‘for I left it in the left-hand bottom one, locked up, only the day before. Well, I will say good-night now. I think we understand each other; and I will give instructions about the butter to-morrow.’

It was in rather a peculiarly silent and constrained fashion that Mr. and Mrs. Belassis shook hands with their genial nephew and saw him depart.

Then Belassis wiped his forehead, and sat down heavily.

‘We only just got that done in time,’ he said, drawing a long breath, ‘Suppose he had found it before we had done our work?’

‘He would not have found it at all but for you,’ answered Mrs. Belassis, with cool contempt. ‘It would have been upstairs, where it ought to have been, but for your folly.’

‘Mine!’

‘Yes; you would bring it down; and now this has happened!’

‘What?’

‘He knows that I have been overhauling his private papers.’

‘He can’t know that.’

‘He does know it. He is not a fool; besides, he said as much. If you had done as I counselled, I should have replaced the paper quietly; and if he had suspected, he could have said nothing.’

‘You always think you are right, and I am wrong,’ growled Belassis.

‘Possibly,’ answered the wife; and then, fixing her eye keenly upon him, she asked: ‘And pray, what is Whitbury? and who is Miss Marjory Descartes?’

Belassis’ face turned livid; but he answered with a sudden blaze of anger:

‘How the devil should I know? I never heard of either one or the other before to-night.’

He flung himself passionately from the room, and Mrs. Belassis sat quite still in the twilight.

‘He is trying to keep a secret from me. What a fool he is!’