Chapter Eighteen.
James Wilton stood for a few moments staring searchingly at his son. Then, in a sudden access of anger, he rushed to the library door, flung it open, came back, caught the young man by the shoulders, and began to back him in.
“Here, what are you doing, guv’nor? Leave off! Don’t do that. Here, why don’t you answer my question?”
“Hold your tongue, idiot! Do you suppose I want all the servants to hear what is said? Go in there.”
He gave him a final thrust, and then hurried out to hasten upstairs to where Mrs Wilton stood holding on by the heavy balustrade which crossed the hall like a gallery, and rocking herself to and fro.
“Oh, James, I knew it—I knew it!” she sobbed out. “She’s dead—she’s dead!”
“Hush! Hold your tongue!” cried her husband. “Do you want to alarm the house? You’ll have all the servants here directly. Come along.”
He drew her arm roughly beneath his, and hurried her down the stairs into the library, thrust her into her son’s arms, and then hurried to the hall table for the candle, ending by shutting himself in with them.
“Oh, Claud, Claud, my darling boy!” wailed Mrs Wilton.
“If you don’t hold your tongue, Maria, you’ll put me in a rage,” growled Wilton, savagely. “Sit in that chair.”
“Oh, James, James, you shouldn’t,” sobbed the poor woman, “you shouldn’t,” as she was plumped down heavily; but she spoke in a whisper.
“Done?” asked Claud, mockingly. “Then, now p’raps you’ll answer my question. Has she bolted?”
“Silence, idiot!” growled his father, so fiercely that the young man backed away from trim in alarm. “No, don’t keep silence, but speak. You contemptible young hound, do you think you can impose upon me by your question—by your pretended ignorance? Do you think you can impose upon me, I say? Do you think I cannot see through your plans?”
“I say, mater, what’s the guv’nor talking about?” cried Claud.
“She’s dead—she’s dead!”
“Who’s dead? What’s dead?”
“Answer me, sir,” continued Wilton, backing his son till he could get no farther for the big table. “Do you think you can impose upon me?”
“Who wants to impose on you, guv’nor?”
“You do, sir. But I see through your miserable plan, and I tell you this. You can’t get the money into your own hands to make ducks and drakes of, for I am executor and trustee and guardian, and if there’s any law in the land I’ll lock up every shilling so that you can’t touch it. If you had played honourably with me you would have had ample, and the estate would have come to you some day, cleared of incumbrances, if you had not killed yourself first.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” cried Claud, angrily. “Who’s imposing on you? Who’s playing dishonourably? You behaved like a brute to me, and I went off to get out of it all, only I didn’t want to be hard on ma, and so I came back.”
“Oh, my darling boy! It was very, very good of you.”
“Be quiet, Maria. Let the shallow-brained young idiot speak,” growled Wilton. “Now, sir, answer me—have you gone through some form of marriage?”
“Who with?” said the young man, with a grin.
“Answer my question, sir. Have you gone through some form of marriage?”
“I? No. I’m free enough, guv’nor.”
“You have not?” cried Wilton, aghast. “You mean to tell me that you have taken that poor girl away somewhere, and have not married her?”
“No, I don’t mean to tell you anything of the sort. Here, mother, is the pater going mad?”
“Silence, Maria; don’t answer him.”
“Yes, do ma. What does it all mean? Has Kitty bolted?”
“She’s drowned—she’s drowned, my boy.”
“Nonsense, ma! You’re always thinking someone is drowned. Then she has bolted. Oh, I say!”
“No, sir; she has not bolted, as you term it in your miserable horsey slang. You’ve taken her away—there; don’t deny it. You’ve got her somewhere, and you think you can set me at defiance.”
“Do I, guv’nor?”
“Yes, sir, you do. But I’ve warned you and shown you how you stand. Now, look here; your only chance is to give up and do exactly as I tell you.”
“Oh, is it?” said the young man mockingly.
“Yes, sir, it is. Now then, be frank and open with me at once, and I may be able to help you out of the miserable hole in which you have plunged us.”
“Go ahead, then. Have it your own way, guv’nor.”
“No time must be lost—that is, if you are not deceiving me and have already had the ceremony performed.”
“I didn’t stand on ceremony,” said Claud, with a laughing sneer; “I gave her a few kisses, and a nice row was the result.”
“Will you be serious, sir?”
“Yes, I’m serious enough. Where has she gone?”
“Where have you taken her?”
“I haven’t taken her anywhere, guv’nor.”
“Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you did not go up a ladder to her window?”
“Hullo!”
“Bring her down and take her right away?”
“I say, guv’nor,” cried Claud, with such startling energy that his father’s last suspicion was swept away; “is it so bad as that?”
“Then you didn’t take her off?”
“Of course I didn’t. Take her off? What, after that scene? Likely. What nonsense, guv’nor! Do you think she’d have come?”
“Claud, you amaze me, my boy,” cried Wilton, who looked staggered, but his incredulity got the better of him directly. “No; only by your effrontery,” he continued. “You are trifling with me; worse still, you are trifling with a large fortune. Come, it will pay you best to be frank. Where is she?”
“At the bottom of the pike pond, for all I know—a termagant,” cried Claud; “I tell you I haven’t seen her since the row.”
“Then she is drowned—she’s drowned.”
“Be quiet, Maria!” roared Wilton. “Now, boy, tell me the truth for once in a way; did you elope with Kate?”
“No, guv’nor, I did not,” cried the young man. “I never had the chance, or I’d have done it like a shot.”
Wilton’s jaw dropped. He was quite convinced now, and he sank into a chair, staring at his son.
“I—I thought you had made short work of it,” said Wilton, huskily.
“Then she really has gone?” said Claud in a whisper.
“Yes, yes, my dear,” burst out Mrs Wilton. “I knew it! I was right at first.”
“Where has she gone, then, mother?”
“Hold your tongue, woman!” cried Wilton, angrily. “You don’t know anything about it—how could she get a ladder there? Footsteps on the flower-bed, my boy. A man in it. I thought it was you.”
“And all that money gone,” cried Claud.
“No, not yet, my boy. There, I beg your pardon for suspecting you. It seemed so much like your work. But stop—you are cheating me; it was your doing.”
“Have it your own way, then, guv’nor.”
“You were seen with her last night.”
“Eh? What time?” cried Claud.
“I don’t know the time, sir, but a man saw you with her. Come, you see the risk you run of losing a fortune. Speak out.”
Claud spoke in, but what he said was his own affair. Then, after a minute’s thought, he said; “I say, would it be old Garstang, guv’nor?”
“No, sir, it would not be John Garstang,” cried Wilton, with his anger rising again.
“No; I have it, guv’nor,” cried Claud, excitedly. “I went up, meaning to have a turn in town with Harry Dasent, but he was out. That’s it; he hasn’t a penny in the world, and he has been down here three times lately. I thought he’d got devilish fond of her all at once; and twice over he let out about Kitty being so good-looking. That’s it; he’s got her away.”
“No, no, my dear; she wouldn’t have gone away with a man like that,” sobbed Mrs Wilton. “She didn’t like him.”
“No; absurd,” cried Wilton.
“But he’d have gone away with her, guv’nor.”
“You were seen with her last night.”
“Oh, was I? All right, then. If you say so I suppose I was, guv’nor, but I’m going back to London after ferreting out all I can. You’re on the wrong scent, dad,—him! I never thought of that.”
“You’re wrong, Claud; you’re wrong.”
“Yes, mother, deucedly wrong,” cried the young man fiercely. “Why didn’t I think of it? I might have done the same, and now it’s too late. Perhaps not. She’d hold out after he got her away, and we might get to her in time. No, I know Harry Dasent. It’s too late now.”
“Look here, Claud, boy, I want to believe in you,” said Wilton, who was once more impressed by his son’s earnestness; “do you tell me you believe that Harry Dasent has taken her away by force?”
“Force, or some trick. It was just the sort of time when she might listen to him. There; you may believe me, now.”
“Then who was the lady you were seen with last night? Come, be honest. You were seen with someone. Who was it?”
“Mustn’t kiss and tell, guv’nor,” said Claud, with a sickly grin.
“Look here,” said Wilton huskily. “There are a hundred and fifty thousand pounds at stake, my boy. Was it Kate?”
“No, father,” cried the young man earnestly; “it wasn’t, ’pon my soul.”
“Am I to believe you?”
“Look here, guv’nor, do you think I want to fool this money away? What good should I be doing by pretending I hadn’t carried her off? I told you I’d have done it like a shot if I had had the chance; and what’s more, you’d have liked it, so long as I had got her to say yes. I did not carry her off, once for all. It was Harry Dasent, and if he has choused me out of that bit of coin, curse him, if I hang for it, I’ll break his neck!”
“Oh! Claud, Claud, my darling,” wailed Mrs Wilton, “to talk like that when your cousin’s lying cold and motionless at the bottom of that pond!”