Carmen's Messenger

by Harold Bindloss

XIII

FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH

After breakfast next morning Foster asked the hotel porter to take his knapsack to the station and get him a ticket to Carlisle. He must leave a clew for Daly, who might come back to Hawick when he failed to find him in Annandale but would be badly puzzled if he went to Carlisle, because it was an important railway center, where one would have a choice of several different routes. This would give Foster a few quiet days, after which he must think of a way of inducing Daly to resume the chase. The latter probably thought he was following Lawrence, and if he did not, no doubt concluded that Foster was working in concert with him, and to find one would help him to deal with the other.

It was a dark morning and the smoke of the woolen factories hung about the town. A few lights burned in the station, but the building was gloomy and Foster had some trouble in finding the porter among the waiting passengers. Soon after he did so, the train came in and the man hurried along the platform, looking into the carriages.

"Ye wanted a corridor, sir," he said as he opened a door.

Foster got in and stood at the window until the porter went away. People were running up and down looking for places, but he had no time to lose. Opening the door on the opposite side, he went along the corridor and stood for a moment on the step at the other end of the carriage. He could not see the porter, and when two or three passengers ran up got down from the step. Next moment the whistle blew, the engine snorted, and the train rolled out of the station.

As none of the porters spoke to him, Foster thought he had managed the thing neatly and made it look as if he had come to see somebody off instead of having been left behind. For all that, he waited a minute or two, studying a time-table, to avoid the risk of overtaking the hotel porter; and then made his way by back streets out of the town. For some miles, the road he took ran south up a well-cultivated valley, past turnip and stubble fields and smooth pasture; and then changed to a rough stony track that climbed a hill.

A turn shut in the valley when he reached higher ground, and a long stretch of moor rolled away ahead. Foster thought these sharp transitions from intensive cultivation to the sterile wilds were characteristic of southern Scotland. It had rained since he left Hawick, but now the sun shone down between the clouds and bright gleams and flying shadows chased each other across the waste. To the south the sky was clear and shone with a lemon-yellow glow, against which the rounded hills rose, delicately gray. In one place there was a gap that Foster thought was Liddesdale, and his path led across the latter towards the head of Tyne. Not a house broke the sweep of withered grass and heath, and only the crying of plover that circled in the distance disturbed the silence.

Foster liked the open trail and went on with a light step, until as he crossed the watershed and the country sloped to the south, he came to a wire fence and saw the black mouth of a railway tunnel beneath. It was now about two o'clock, and feeling hungry, he sat down where a bank cut off the wind, and took out some food he had bought at Hawick. He did not know if he found the shining rails and row of telegraph posts that curved away down the hillside out of place, but somehow they made him feel foolishly unconventional. His boots and mackintosh were wet, he was lunching on sweet biscuits and gingerbread, and did not know where he would spend the night, although it would not be at a comfortable hotel. Until he saw the tunnel, he had felt at home in the wilds and might have done so yet, had he, for example, been driving a flock of sheep; but the railway was disturbing.

In this country, people traveled by steam-heated trains, instead of on foot, and engaged a lawyer to defend them from their enemies. He was going back to the methods of two or three centuries ago, and not even doing this properly, since the moss-troopers who once rode through those hills carried lances instead of a check-book, which was after all his best weapon. He laughed and felt himself something of a modern Don Quixote as he lighted his pipe.

Then there was a roar in the tunnel and a North British express, leaping out through a cloud of smoke, switched his thoughts on to another track. His adventures had begun in a train, and it was in a train he met the girl who warned him not to deliver Carmen's packet. He did not see what the packet had to do with him, but he had had some trouble about it and thought it might turn up again. Then he wondered whether Daly was now in Annandale. The fellow was obviously determined to find Lawrence, and, if one admitted that he had come to England for the purpose, did not mind how much it cost him, which was rather strange. After all, blackmailing was a risky business and the Featherstones were not rich. It looked as if Daly might have some other object in tracking Lawrence, but Foster could not see what it was. Indeed, he was frankly puzzled. There was a mystery about Carmen's packet, he had been warned out of Edinburgh, and inquiries about him were afterwards made, while Daly's keenness was not quite explained. He wondered whether these things were somehow related, but at present they only offered him tangled clews that led nowhere. Well, he might be able to unravel them by and by, and getting up went on his way.

He spent the night at a lonely cothouse on the edge of a peat-moss and reached the Garth next afternoon. John let him in and after taking his mackintosh remarked: "Mr. and Mrs. Featherstone are out, but Miss Featherstone is at home; I will let her know you have arrived." Then he paused and added in a half-apologetic tone: "I hope you had a pleasant journey, sir."

Foster smiled. John had softened his imperturbable formality by just the right touch of respectful interest. In a sense, they were accomplices, but Foster thought if they had committed a crime together, the old fellow would have treated him with unmoved deference as his master's guest.

"On the whole, I had. I suppose you met the other car when you turned back at the station?"

"Yes, sir. I met it coming round the bend."

"As the road's narrow, your judgment's pretty good. Did anything happen?"

John's eyes twinkled faintly. "Not to our car, sir. The other had the bad luck to run on to the grass where the ground was soft. In fact, we had some trouble to pull her out. The gentleman seemed annoyed, sir."

Foster went to his room chuckling. He could imagine the deferential way in which John, who had caused the accident, had offered help. When we went down Alice met him in the hall and he thrilled at something in her manner as she gave him her hand. It was getting dark and the glow of the fire flickered among the shadows, but there was only one lamp, and as it was shaded the light did not travel far beyond the small table, on which tea was presently served. This hinted at seclusion and homelike intimacy. An embroidered cloth half-covered the dark, polished oak, the china was old but unusually delicate, and the blue flame of a spirit lamp burned beneath the copper kettle.

Foster thought everything showed signs of fastidious taste, but there was something austere about it that harmonized with the dignified shabbiness of the house. It was, for example, very different from the prettiness of the Edinburgh tea-room, and he thought it hinted of the character of the Borderers. For all that, the society of his companion had the greatest charm. Alice was plainly dressed, but simplicity became her. The girl had the Border spirit, with its reserves of strength and tenderness. Now she was quietly friendly, but Foster knew her friendship was not lightly given and was worth much.

Alice made him talk about his journey and he did so frankly, except that he did not mention his meeting the girl in the tea-room or the detective's visit to his hotel. Still he felt a certain embarrassment, as he had done when he told his partner's story. It was rather hard to relate his own exploits, and he knew Alice would note any error he was led into by vanity or false diffidence.

"Then it was really to keep a promise to Miss Austin you went to Newcastle," she remarked presently. "Since she sent you with the packet, you must know her pretty well."

"Yes," said Foster, "in a way, we are good friends. You see there are not a great many people at the Crossing."

Alice gave him a quiet glance. He was not such a fool as to imagine it mattered to her whether he knew Carmen well or not. But he thought she was not altogether pleased.

"What is Miss Austin like?" she asked.

Foster was careful about his reply. He wanted Alice to understand that he was not Carmen's lover, which needed tact; but he was her friend and must do her justice, while any breach of good taste would be noted and condemned. He did his best, without learning if he had produced the right effect, for Alice let the matter drop, as if it no longer interested her.

"Perhaps it's a pity you helped the men who were poaching," she said.
"I'm afraid you're fond of romantic adventures."

"I'm sometimes rash and sorry afterwards," Foster admitted. "However, there's an excuse for the other thing. This is a romantic country and I've spent a long time in Canada, which is altogether businesslike."

Alice gave him an approving smile, but she said, "One shouldn't be sorry afterwards. Isn't that rather weak?"

"I'm human," Foster rejoined. "A thing looks different when you come to pay for doing it. It's pretty hard not to feel sorry then."

"After all, that may be better than counting the cost beforehand and leaving the thing undone."

"You're a Borderer; one of the headstrong, old-fashioned kind that broke the invasions and afterwards defied their own rulers for a whim."

"As a matter of fact, a number of them were very businesslike. They fought for their enemies' cattle and the ransom of captured knights."

"Not always," Foster objected. "At Flodden, where the Ettrick spears all fell in the smashed squares, the Scots king came down from his strong camp to meet the English on equal terms. Then it wasn't businesslike when Buccleugh, with his handful of men, carried off Kimmont Willie from Carlisle. There was peace between the countries and he had two offended sovereigns to hold him accountable."

"It looks as if you had been reading something about our history,"
Alice said smiling.

"I haven't read much," Foster answered modestly. "Still, we have a few books at the mill, and in the long winter evenings, when the thermometer marks forty degrees below and you sit close to the red-hot stove, there's nothing to do but read. It would be hard for you to picture our little room; the match-boarding, split by the changes from heat to bitter cold, the smell of hot iron, the dead silence, and the grim white desolation outside. Perhaps it's curious, but after working hard all day, earning dollars, one can't read rubbish. One wants romance, but romance that's real and has the truth in it."

"But your own life has been full of adventure."

"In a way, but there was always a business proposition to justify the risk. It's good to be reckless now and then, and I've felt as I read about your ancestors that I envied them. There must have been some charm in riding about the moors with one's lady's glove on one's steel cap, ready to follow where adventure called."

"So far as we know," said Alice, "it was the custom to honor one lady, always. The Border chiefs were rude, but they had their virtues, and there are some pretty stories of their constancy."

Foster imagined he saw a faint sparkle in her eyes. He would have liked to think she resented his having gone to Newcastle on Carmen's behalf, but doubted this. After a pause she resumed:

"People say we are decadent and getting slack with luxury, but one likes to think the spirit of the race survives all changed conditions and can't be destroyed. There is a colliery not very far off where the water broke in some years ago. The men in the deep workings were cut off, but the few who escaped went back into the pit—and never came up. They knew the thing was impossible, their leaders frankly told them so, but they would not be denied. Well, the colliery was not reopened, the shaft-head towers are falling down, but there's a granite fountain on the moor that will stand for ages to record the splendid sacrifice."

"They had all to lose," said Foster. "One must admire, without hoping to emulate, a deed like that."

Alice changed the subject rather abruptly. "What you have told me is puzzling. I can't see why the police followed you, and there's something mysterious about the packet. It all seems connected with Lawrence's affairs, and yet I can't see how. I suppose you have no explanation?"

"Not yet. I feel there's something going on in which I may by and by take a part. The clews break off, but I may find one that's stronger, and then——"

He stopped, but Alice gave him an understanding glance. "Then you would follow the clew, even if it led you into some danger, for Lawrence's sake?"

"I'd try," said Foster, with a flush that gave him a curiously
ingenuous look. "As I've no particular talent for that kind of thing,
I mightn't do much good, but you have accused me of being romantic and
I've owned that I am rash."

Alice smiled. "You're certainly modest; but there's a rashness that is much the same as generosity."

Then Featherstone came in and after a time took Foster to the library, where he gave him a cigarette.

"It's strange we haven't heard from Lawrence yet," he said in a disturbed voice. "He hasn't given the Canadian post office his new address, because here's a letter they have sent on."

"From Hulton, who seems to be in Toronto," said Foster, picking up the envelope. "As I'm a partner, I'll open it."

He did so and gave Featherstone the letter, which inquired if they could supply some lumber the company needed.

"I'm sorry we can't do the work, because we won't be back in time. It would have been an interesting job to cut the stuff in the way Hulton wants."

"He seems to leave a good deal to your judgment and to have no doubt about your sending him the right material."

"I suppose that is so," Foster agreed. "Hulton soon got into the way of sending for Lawrence when he wanted any lumber that had to be carefully sawn. In fact, he treats him as a kind of consulting specialist, and I imagine likes him personally."

He was silent for the next minute or two. Featherstone's remark had shown him more clearly than he had hitherto realized how high Lawrence stood in the manufacturer's esteem. No other outsider was treated with such confidence. Then he told Featherstone about his journey, and the latter said:

"I have heard nothing from Daly, but soon after you left, a gentleman from Edinburgh came here to inquire about you."

"Ah!" said Foster, rather sharply. "I suppose he was sent by the police and imagine I met him at my hotel. His name was Gordon; I thought it curious that he gave me his card."

"That was the name. He asked if I knew you and I said I did."

"Then it looks as if he meant to test my statements. Did he seem surprised to learn I was staying here?"

"It was hard to tell what the fellow thought; but somehow I felt that he expected to find your story true. He, however, gave me no information. What do you suppose he wants?"

"I can't imagine; the thing's puzzling. What makes it stranger is that
I thought the interest Gordon took in me was, so to speak, benevolent."

"But why should it be benevolent, if he had any ground for suspecting you?" Featherstone asked.

Foster glanced at him keenly. There was a change in his host's manner, which had grown less cordial, but he admitted that Featherstone's confidence was being subjected to some strain. It would certainly be disturbing to find the police inquiring about him. Lawrence had not written, and Foster saw that there was much in his statements that sounded rather lame.

"I don't understand the matter at all; but it might be better if I left quietly in the morning," he said. "If I don't put Daly on my trail again, he may come back."

"Very well," said Featherstone, getting up. "But what did you do with
Lawrence's bag?"

"I left it at a Peebles hotel. I thought if Daly found it was there, it would give him a place to watch."

Featherstone gloomily made a sign of agreement. "I wish Lawrence would write to us. We are getting anxious about him and a letter would put our minds at rest."