CHAPTER LVIII.—CLEARING UP.
Philip with amazement not unmingled with displeasure recognised Mr Beecham in the person who in this mysterious fashion intruded himself on their privacy.
Madge was for a second startled by the sudden apparition; but that feeling passed as the shadow of a swift-flying bird passes over the breast of a clear pool, and her face became bright with hope. The object which Philip had so longed for was accomplished—the distrust and enmity of Austin Shield were extinguished. Remembering about the secret recess of the Oak Parlour, and the legend of its having once served as the hiding-place of a fugitive king, she did not pause to speculate how it had been discovered, or how or why the man came to make use of it at that moment, but waited eagerly for the upshot of this singular meeting.
The invalid, resting back on his cushions, stared at the intruder with mingled emotions of astonishment, curiosity, and suspicion; then he glanced inquiringly from Madge to Philip, seeking from them the explanation at which the latter could no more guess than he.
The man himself advanced calmly.
‘I must ask you to pardon the odd way in which I present myself to you, Mr Hadleigh,’ he said gravely, as he bowed with respect; ‘it is partly due to accident, partly to design.’
‘I am your debtor, Mr Beecham,’ answered Philip coldly, ‘on my own account and my uncle’s; but I am not conscious of anything you have done which can justify you in playing the part of a’——
‘You would say the part of a spy and a hidden listener to what was not intended for my ears,’ was the calm rejoinder, a smile of good-humoured approval on the kindly face. ‘I have been both, but I shall not lose all your respect when you understand the position. Be patient.—I was waiting in the room until the girl who admitted me could find an opportunity of telling Miss Heathcote that I wished to see her before seeking an interview with your father. She returned immediately to say that she had been unable to deliver my message, and that they were bringing the sick gentleman in here. She left me hurriedly. I did not wish to meet Mr Hadleigh until his leave had been asked, and I could not go into the hall without meeting him.’
‘Why should you avoid him?’
‘There are circumstances which might have made an unexpected meeting unpleasant. I am now aware that that was my mistake. At anyrate I remembered the secret of this panel, which was explained to me years ago by old Jerry Mogridge. He was then the only one who knew it. I was aware of the misconceptions my conduct might give rise to, but entered the place hoping to find the outlet to the garden. Some time was occupied in searching for it without success. I would have endured my ignominious imprisonment, however, had not Mr Hadleigh’s voice confirmed Dr Joy’s assurance that I might speak to him freely.’
He paused, as if desirous of some sign from the invalid that he might proceed. The latter assented with a slight movement of the head.
‘I do not regret my awkward position, Mr Hadleigh, since it has enabled me to hear what you have said to these young people when you could have no suspicion of my neighbourhood. Your treatment of them has done as much as the proofs placed in my hands by Miss Heathcote to convince me that, in the blind passion of youth and deceived by a scoundrel, I did you gross injustice. You know me: is it too late to ask your pardon?’
There was silence. Philip, in much perplexity, was looking alternately at the two men; Madge was watching with breathless interest, the dawn of a joyful smile on her face. At length, Hadleigh:
‘I trust it is never too late to ask pardon—or to grant it. There is my hand, Mr Shield.’
They clasped hands with the calmness of men who strike a mutually advantageous bargain: there was no pretence of any other feeling in the touch. But Madge placed her hands on theirs, and her face was radiant with joy.
‘You are both my friends and Philip’s,’ she said; ‘he wanted you to understand each other: he desired it and thought of it a great deal more than of the fortune you tried to tempt him with, Mr Shield.’
‘I should like to understand this riddle,’ Philip broke in. ‘I have known you as Beecham, and another as Austin Shield.’
Beecham drew from his pocket a pencil and note-book. He wrote: ‘I am the Austin Shield you have known in correspondence—as this will testify. The man you have met under my name is Jack Hartopp, who has been my faithful ally and comrade for years past. For reasons—most unhappy reasons, which shall be fully explained—I desired to test your nature before you became the husband of Madge Heathcote.’
‘I recognise the writing,’ said Philip, ‘but am unable to comprehend what authority you can pretend to have over Miss Heathcote.’
‘I will explain that,’ interrupted Madge; and she did so to his entire satisfaction within a few hours.
Meanwhile, Philip was anything but satisfied. He was frowning as he put the next question:
‘Then this report about the losses—the financial difficulties which prevented Mr Shield from giving me the assistance I required?’
‘You have had the assistance you required; you have been rescued from the clutches of a knave, who would have duped you out of everything; you have had a lesson which will be worth thousands to you; and you have still the opportunity of carrying out your plans to what I hope will be a satisfactory issue.’ Shield said this in a tone of reproach; but observing the changes on Philip’s face, he proceeded with his usual kindliness of expression: ‘I could never have known what genuine and generous stuff you were made of, Philip, unless I had seen you in misfortune, and found that you are ready to give up everything to support the man whose money you had lost.’
‘That was my duty.’
‘Yes, yes,’ was the smiling interruption; ‘but it was a duty from which you might easily and without discredit have excused yourself. It was, however, your brave acceptance of the duty which convinced me that she would be safe in your keeping; and to secure her happiness as far as it is in human power to do so, I was ready to sacrifice anything. I am satisfied on that point, and you know that Miss Heathcote has been satisfied for a long time.’
‘Then the story which this Hartopp told me about the losses—what of that?’
‘You must not blame Jack Hartopp; he acted faithfully according to his instructions; and it was only on account of his mania for drink that I was obliged to keep him out of your way as much as possible. With that pitiable drawback, he is as shrewd and brave as he is honest. To save my life and property, he has stood up single-handed against a gang of mutinous workmen on the diamond fields. He likes you, Philip, and you will soon respect him as well as like him. As to our losses, they have been heavy and sudden, owing to the failure of a gold-mining Company in which I had invested and the fall in the price of Cape diamonds. But we have still ample means to go on with comfortably.’
‘Is Mr Hartopp a son of our neighbours of the Chelmer Bridge farm?’ inquired Madge.
‘Yes; he was in California for a time, but hearing of the diamond fields, thought he would try his luck in them. He was in a poor plight when he reached my station; but he had a hearty welcome as soon as he told where he came from.... And now, I should like to see Mrs Crawshay and her husband. She would have recognised me at once, and that is why I have kept out of her way.’
When, however, Madge brought him face to face with the dame, the latter had to scrutinise his visage closely for several minutes before she identified him.
‘Faces change with time,’ he said, as if excusing beforehand her slowness of recognition.
‘And hearts too,’ she answered somewhat drily.
‘Not always,’ was his earnest comment; and the grasp of their hands, the smile on their faces, proved that their hearts had not changed at anyrate.
‘I am glad there is an end of this prank,’ she said by-and-by; ‘many a weary thought it has cost me, for it is the only time I have ever held anything back from Dick. But I knew thou wert meaning well, and it was not in me to thwart thee in doing what seemed to thee right, for love of Lucy. But it was a perilous adventure for all of us, and we have reason to give thanks that it ends as we would have it.’
Dick Crawshay could not easily grasp all the details of the explanations which were given him; but he quickly comprehended that Madge had been doing her best to make others happy at the risk of her conduct being much misconstrued. So he took her in his arms.
‘Buss me, lass, and forget that I was ever angered with you. But it wasn’t easy to keep temper when all things about the place seemed to be going contrary, and everybody was more dunderheaded than another—not to mention my temper was always known to be of the gunpowder sort, so that one spark was enough to blow up the whole place.’
‘But the explosion is never very destructive,’ she said with a smile and a kiss.
‘Dunno how you take it, Madge, but it always leaves me somehow uncomfortable. Hows’ever, let that be, and come and see to the entries for the Smithfield Club. I’ll be main vexed if we don’t get a prize; they have got a clean bill of health, and I’ll go bail there are no cows or steers in the country to beat them.’
He took Austin Shield as much into his favour as he had done when that person had presented himself under the name of Beecham, and consulted him about the cattle as if he had been the most famous of ‘vets.’ To Jack Hartopp he gave a cordial welcome, and, unwisely, opened a case of hollands, which had come from Amsterdam by way of Harwich, for his delectation.
‘Never you mind,’ he said in answer to the dame’s remonstrance; ‘there is nothing too good for a man that has been as faithful to his mate or master as Jack Hartopp has been to Shield. Clever rogues, both of ’em—and they say, and Philip says, I’m sure of a red rosette at the Smithfield show.’
There was a great gathering at Willowmere this Christmas. The huge barn was cleared for the occasion, and all the lads and lasses of the village who had ever done a day’s work on the farm were invited. Gay ribbons and happy faces, lamps and candles, made the place brilliant. There was a huge bush of mistletoe and holly hanging from the centre of the roof, and Uncle Dick led his dame forward and gave her a sounding kiss under it, amidst the cheers and laughter of the lads, who whirled their lasses along to follow this gallant example.
Then the fiddles struck up Sir Roger de Coverley, and yeoman Dick led off the dance with his dame, both as young in heart as the youngest present, and as joyful as if they had not those long reaches of the past to look back upon. Madge and Philip followed, as if their young lives were to fill the gap between youth and age.
All the guests agreed there had never been in their recollection such a merry Christmas gathering in the county.