TREASURE TROVE.
A STORY IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAP. I.
Saint Quinians—that quaint little town which nestles in a valley close by the cruel, tumbling North Sea—looked forward, sixty years ago, to market-day as the one weekly break in the monotony of its existence, just as it does now. On Wednesdays, Saint Quinians became the centre to which active life converged from a score of villages and hamlets that regarded it as their metropolis. Wednesday was a point in the calendar upon which hinged all arrangements, and by which all events were calculated: people met upon Wednesday who never saw each other at any other time; and the news of Wednesday was the latest obtainable by many folk even at an epoch when forty coaches left London every evening. And if Saint Quinians’ shopkeepers looked forward to Wednesday as their busy day—if the farmers looked forward to it as the link which bound them with the outer world—if the local youth saved up their money and their spirits, and let them both out on Wednesday, Bertha West, who lived with her father in a solitary house on the shore, some four miles from the town, looked forward to it as the day when she met her sweetheart, Harry Symonds, and spent the happiest hours of her week. Every Wednesday, Harry Symonds met her at the old South Gate—the only one remaining to tell of days when Saint Quinians was a port of some fame, and contributed its quota of ships and men to the national navy—and if she was prevented from coming, a very miserable week was in store for the young man, as John West, the father of Bertha, did not approve of the attachment, for the rather selfish reason, that if his daughter married, he was left alone in the world.
They had been sweethearting in this semi-clandestine manner for more than a year, and Harry Symonds was beginning to face mentally the awkward problem of what was to be done, should the old man persist in his opposition to the match. Not only this; but the young man was aware that the pretty girl whom he had learned to regard as his own inalienable private property was the object of very marked attention on the part of a certain Jasper Rodley, a youth who bore no very high character in the town, who had suddenly disappeared from it for three years, and had as unexpectedly returned; and although Harry trusted Bertha implicitly, he thought that a settlement of affairs would be an advisable step. And so when, one bright spring Wednesday morning, he met the girl coming with her market baskets on her arm along the path over the sandhills, she observed that his face was serious, and very naturally jumped at the conclusion that something was wrong.
‘Why, Harry,’ she exclaimed, ‘there’s a face for a lover to make who sees his sweetheart only once a week! There’s nothing wrong, is there?’
‘No, dear,’ replied the young man, his face instantly brightening at the sound of her voice; ‘there’s nothing wrong. I’ve been thinking, that’s all. And how are matters at home? How’s the father?’
‘Just as usual, Harry. Father’s been depressed all the week; but I’ve got him to set to work on his flagstaff and battery with two real guns, so that he’ll be all right.’
‘I wonder what depresses him?’ asked Harry. ‘You’ve always described him as such a jovial old seadog.’
‘I don’t know; but ever since the Fancy Lass was wrecked, he’s been different at times.’
‘And Mr Rodley—has he been annoying you with any of his attentions lately?’ asked Harry.
‘No. But I’ve seen him more than once about our house.’
‘How did he find out where you lived? And what is he doing there?’
Bertha shook her head, and said: ‘I don’t know. I seem to think that there has been some acquaintance formed between father and him. He has never been inside the house, to my knowledge; but I fancy they meet now and then.’
The young man was silent for a few moments; then he continued: ‘Well, never mind, Bertha. So long as we are true to each other, he cannot come between us. He’s a queer fellow, and people say odd things about him. If you remember, he disappeared from Saint Quinians about the same time that my sad business with the bank took place.’
‘You mean, when the bank’s sovereigns were stolen, and you were dismissed for cul—cul—— What was it, Harry?’
‘Culpable negligence, my dear.’
‘Yes, that was it; and a great shame it was!’ cried the girl warmly. ‘I wonder where the sovereigns went to?’
‘Ah! where indeed?’ asked Harry. ‘They were never traced. But old Cusack, our cashier, who disappeared with them, took good care that they never should be traced. It’s my belief that they went to sea, for three thousand pounds in sovereigns are not carried away so easily. However, after all, it did me no harm. Every one agreed that I was cruelly treated. I got a new berth immediately; and I’m much better off now than I should have been if I’d remained in the bank’s service; so well off, in fact, Bertha, that I’m beginning to think it almost time for us to come to some decision as to what we shall do.’
‘O Harry! there’s plenty of time to think about that; and it’s—it’s so pleasant making love; and besides, I must break it gently to father, for he has no idea of parting with me yet.’
‘But he surely can’t expect that you should spend your life in that tumble-down old smuggler’s cottage.—Hillo! there’s Rodley, skulking about like a whipped cur. We’ll go on.’
So the happy pair proceeded into the market, Harry holding the girl’s baskets whilst she made her usual purchases, until the clock striking ten warned the young man that he was due at his office. He saw Bertha on her road home as far as the South Gate, and was hurrying across the market-place, when he caught sight of Jasper Rodley walking swiftly in the direction taken by Bertha. He stopped and watched. He saw Rodley catch the girl up just as she was disappearing beneath the archway, raise his hat, and continue by her side in spite of Bertha’s evident annoyance. Harry Symonds retraced his steps so far that he could watch the progress of the pair out of the town. Suddenly, he observed Mr Rodley attempt to put his arms round Bertha’s waist, whereupon the girl struggled, got free, and ran on.
This was too much for Harry. He ran out by the gate, and, coming up to Bertha and her tormentor, said to him: ‘Mr Rodley, what do you mean by daring to force your attentions where they are not wanted?’
Jasper Rodley, a tall, well-built young fellow, of about Harry’s age and size, started at first; but, shoving his hands into his pockets, surveyed his questioner for a moment with disdain, and asked: ‘And what has that to do with you, Mr Dismissed Bank-clerk?’
Harry was itching to thrash him on the spot; but respect for Bertha’s presence induced him to bottle up his wrath as best he could, and reply: ‘You’ve no right to bother any girl if she doesn’t want to have anything to do with you. And look here—your character hereabouts isn’t so high that you can afford to call other people names, so I warn you to keep a civil tongue in your head, or something might be done that you wouldn’t like, and something might be said that would make you look a little small.’
This last bit was added at random, but it seemed to have a strange effect upon Rodley, who turned pale for a moment, but recovered himself and retorted: ‘Done and said, indeed! You couldn’t do much that I’m afraid of, and at anyrate people couldn’t say of me what they do of you. How about these sovereigns, eh?’
‘Look here, Rodley. If I did my duty, I should give you a thrashing on the spot. Just be off.—Miss West is betrothed to me. That’s enough. Do you hear?’
Jasper Rodley walked off, with a savage scowl on his face and an imprecation on his lips.
‘O Harry dear!’ cried the girl, who was trembling with fright, ‘I’m so glad you didn’t fight.’
‘Fight with a cur like that!’ exclaimed Harry. ‘Men of his kidney don’t fight.—What has he been saying to you, my darling?’
‘Oh, such terrible things, Harry! He says that he will marry me whether I like it or not—that father is in his power, and has consented; and that I had better make up my mind to give you up before it is too late.’
‘Why, what on earth can he mean? Your father in the power of a rascal like that—to consent to your marrying him! He’s only trying to frighten you. And yet you say that you have seen him with your father. I think I shall tackle Mr Jasper at once and make him explain his dark speeches. There’s one thing—I’m not going to have him continue his tormenting of you, whether your father is in his power or not.—And now, good-bye, dearest; you’re safe now.’
So the girl pursued her homeward road; and Harry Symonds walked rapidly back into the town. Just within the gate, he came up with Jasper Rodley. ‘Rodley,’ he said, ‘I’m going to the office to give an excuse for my absence. Kindly wait here until I come back, as I want to speak to you.’
‘If you want to speak to me, you’d better do so at once; I’ve other things to attend to, and I’m not going to hang about here waiting for you.’
‘Very well, then,’ said Harry; ‘let’s go where people can’t remark us. Here, we’ll turn on to the ramparts.’
So they went along the pleasant walk which ran upon what had been, in old, stirring times, the walls of Saint Quinians, a broad path, bounded by shrubs and trees on one side, and by the deep stony ditch on the other.
‘I want an explanation from you,’ said Harry, ‘about what you have just said to Miss West concerning her father being in your power and your determination to marry her.’
‘That’s easily given,’ replied Rodley. ‘At a word from me, old Captain West could be ruined and disgraced. I’m as much in love with Bertha’——
‘Miss West, if you please.’
‘I said “Bertha,” and I repeat it,’ continued Rodley. ‘I’m as much in love with her as you are, and I intend to marry her. If I can’t marry her, I ruin her father.’
‘How can you ruin him?’
‘It’s very likely I should tell you—isn’t it?’ answered Rodley with a sneer.
‘I intend to find out.’
‘Very well then, find out,’ retorted Rodley.—‘And now I must be off.’
‘You don’t go until I have an explanation,’ cried Harry. ‘I don’t believe a word of what you say, and I believe you are only trying to terrify the poor girl into submission.’
‘Come now, Symonds, don’t be a fool; we’re men of the world, and it’s time we understood one another. I tell you once and for all, if Bertha West does not marry me, I’ll have her father up in the felon’s dock.—There; I’ve said more than I intended, so good-morning.’
He endeavoured to push past Harry; but the latter barred the way, saying: ‘You’ll have poor old Captain West up as a felon! Why, man, you’re mad! A simple old man like that, who never stirs beyond his garden, who never said an evil thing of any one, much less did a wrong to any one! Come, be more explicit.’
‘I’ve said more than I intended,’ continued Rodley; ‘and you don’t get another word out of me.’
Again he tried to get past Harry, and again Harry prevented him, saying: ‘Neither of us shall budge from here until I find out more about this.’
Rodley made a desperate effort to get past Harry. The two men struggled together, and as they were evenly matched in weight and strength, the issue was doubtful. Suddenly, Rodley loosened his hold of Harry’s arms, stooped, caught him by the legs, and jerked him over the steep side of the rampart. Harry fell heavily, struck a projecting mass of stone half-way down, and rolled amongst the sharp stones and rubbish at the bottom, where he lay motionless and bleeding. Rodley did not stop to look after him, but walked rapidly back into the town.