Volume Three—Chapter Ten.
The Little Orb Turns Round.
There was but one thought in the minds of father and uncle at Brackley, and that was to silence busy tongues, get Glynne sufficiently well to move, and go right away abroad; and in Oldroyd they had a willing coadjutor, and one who seemed not to have a thought beyond his profession.
The major had been half mad, and ready to follow the bent of his suspicions again and again; but robbery as well as outrage appeared to have influenced the man who had escaped unseen, since the greater part of the valuable jewels, including a diamond bracelet given by Marjorie to the bride, were missing, and he felt that he was wrong.
Sir John prevailed.
“Jem,” he said, “if I knew who it was I’d shoot him ike a dog—curse him! No: I couldn’t wait to fire, I’d strangle him; but I can’t have this published abroad if we can hush it up. I won’t have my child dragged into a witness box to give evidence against the devil who has wrought us this ill. We must bear it, Jem, and wait.”
“But, my dear Jack—”
“But, my dear Jem—I am her father. What would our darling wish if she could speak to us—if we could speak to her upon what it would be best to do?”
The major bowed his head, and as far as possible a veil was drawn over the events of that night.
Rumour was pretty busy during the next month, during which period several stories were afloat, but only one bore the stamp of truth—that, out of despair some said, Captain Rolph obtained leave of absence, and went off to Norway, shooting, while Mrs Rolph and her niece accompanied him as far as Hull, and then continued their journey to Scarboro’.
That was perfectly true, Mrs Rolph having her hands pretty full with Marjorie, who also turned ill having bad, nervous, hysterical fits, and refusing absolutely to go outside The Warren door without having tight hold of Mrs Rolph’s arm; and even then she was constantly turning her eyes wildly round as if in expectation of seeing someone start out from behind bush or hedge.
“The shock to her system,” Mrs Rolph used to say to herself, and she became increasingly gentle toward the girl whose nerves had been shattered by the affair at The Hall.
By this time the shutters were all closed at Brackley, for, after Sir John had been severely blamed for not getting down some big physician when Glynne’s brain fever was at its worst, people came to the conclusion that he knew what he was about, for if ever a clever practitioner did settle down in a place, it was “Doctor” Oldroyd, who had cured the young lady in a wonderfully short space of time. For the month at its end found the Days in Italy, where Glynne had been recommended to go on account of her health.
Oldroyd consequently was on the road to fame—that is the fame which extended for a radius of six miles; but his pockets were very little the heavier, and he still looked upon men who kept banking accounts with a feeling akin to awe.
Change in the neighbourhood of Brackley extended no further. The blunt-eyed, resident policeman, somehow never managed to come across the poachers who made raids upon The Warren and upon Brackley during the absence of their owners; while over at Lindham, the doctor learned from old Mother Wattley, who grew more chatty and apparently younger, under her skilful medical man’s care, that Ben Hayle—‘my son-in-law’—had taken an acre of land, and was ‘goin’ to make a fortun’ there as a florist; but when Oldroyd met the ex-keeper one day, and went over the garden with him, it seemed improbable that it would even pay the rent.
“Better turn to your old business, Hayle,” said Oldroyd.
“Easier said than done, sir,” replied the man. “Old master gave me my chance when I was a young fool, and liked to do a bit o’ poaching, believing honestly then that all birds were wild, and that I had as good a right to them as anybody. But I soon found out the difference when I had to rear them, and I served him honest, and Mrs Rolph too, all those years, till she discharged me because of the captain’s liking for my Judith.”
“But surely there were other places to be found by a man with a good character.”
“Didn’t seem like it, sir. I tried till I was beat out, and then, in a kind of despairing fit, I went out with some of the lads, and you know what I got for my pains.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, “and it ought to be a lesson for you, Hayle.”
“Yes, sir, it ought; but you see, once a man takes to that kind of work it’s hard to keep from it.”
“But, my good fellow, you may be laid by the heels in gaol at any time. I wondered you were not taken over that affair.”
“So I should have been, if I’d had any other doctor, sir,” said Hayle, with a meaning smile, “and the police had been a little sharper. But you didn’t chatter, and our fellows didn’t, and so I got off.”
“But think, now; you, the father of a young girl like Miss Hayle, what would her feelings be if you were sent to prison like that young fellow—what’s his name—was.”
“Caleb Kent, sir?”
“Yes. What’s become of him? I haven’t seen him lately.”
“Racketing about somewhere, sir. Me and him had a quarrel or two about my Judith. He was always hanging after her; and it got so bad, at last, that I promised him a charge o’ shot in his jacket if he ever came anigh our place again. He saw I meant it, sir, and he has left the poor girl in peace.”
“Well, I must be off, Hayle.”
“Thankye for calling, sir. Been to see the old mother-in-law?”
“Yes; she keeps wonderfully well.”
“You mean you keep her wonderfully well, sir. Poor old girl, she’s not a bad one in her way.”
“No, and there’s nothing the matter with her but old age.”
“Hear that the missus is coming back to The Warren, sir?”
“Yes, and that the Brackley people are on their way too. Look here, Hayle, shall I put in a word for you to Sir John?”
“No thankye, doctor, let me bide; things ’ll come right in time. Think there’ll be a wedding at the Hall, now, sir? They tell me Miss Day’s got well and strong again.”
“I’ve enough to do with my people when they want me, Hayle,” said the doctor, drily, “and I never interfere about their private matters; but, as you ask me that question, I should say decidedly not.”
The ex-keeper smiled, as if the doctor’s words coincided with his own thoughts, and he stood watching Oldroyd, as he rode off, getting a peep at Judith seated by the window working hard as he went by, the girl’s face looking pale and waxen in the shade.
“Fretting a bit, by the look of her, and those dark rings,” said Oldroyd, as he rode away. “How much happier a place the world would be if there were no marrying and giving in marriage—no making love at all. Causes more worry, I think, than the drink.”