"Then there's no danger of Joseph seeing the police?"
I kissed her again. "No. Set your mind at rest!" And truly, when day after day went past and no news came I began to believe that Mr. Striver and his suggested revenge had passed away altogether. The murder of Mrs. Caldershaw--unless the gardener was guilty--still remained a mystery, but so long as Gertrude was not troubled I cared very little if it were never solved.
September passed into October, and that damp month gave place to foggy November. I remained very comfortably lodged at the Robin Redbreast, and saw Gertrude every day. The lawyer sent her a weekly sum, so all was well financially, and for the rest, she no longer felt lonely, since she had my company to an unlimited extent. We motored a great deal, we sometimes visited the Tarhaven theatre, and we spent long evenings together over the piano, for Gertrude was a very good musician. If ever a man had an opportunity of knowing what kind of wife he was marrying, I was that lucky individual. Our wooing was odd and unconventional, to say the least of it, and I was known in Burwain village as "Miss Gerty's young man." Only Puddles acted as chaperon, although Miss Destiny sometimes assumed that office.
The little old lady was extremely gracious to me, and actually asked me to afternoon tea in her tin house, an unprecedented favour, considering her avaricious nature. Gertrude privately informed me that her aunt did not again refer to the hidden money, and evidently was quite ready to wait until it was found. If it was, and she did not receive her half, I had no doubt that she would show her teeth, but meanwhile she was bland and smiling and agreeable. I disliked her myself, as I knew she was holding a whip over Gertrude. Still, so long as she did not use it, I had no cause to complain. Gertrude's position--owing to circumstances over which she had no control--was an extremely delicate one, and Miss Destiny, as a possible scandalmaker, had to be propitiated. I was therefore as amiable to her as she was to me, but I fancy she hated me under her feigned mask of friendship, as several times I caught sly glances revealing the smouldering fires of her suppressed feelings.
I had, through those damp months, a companion at the Robin Redbreast in the small person of Dicky Weston. True to his intention, he had leased a few acres of waste land outside the village and, having enclosed it with a high tin fence, had erected sheds for his three or four workmen--in the construction of his airship he did not retain more--and for the housing of the vessel (as I presume it may be called). The various parts were brought from London, and Weston spent his days in putting them together. Meanwhile he lived along with me at the inn, and we had a common table. I rather liked Weston, although he was confoundedly absent-minded. He told me--for we grew confidential--that he had proposed to Mabel and that she had refused him.
"I believe she's in love with that Marr fellow," said Weston savagely.
"She is in love with you, my dear chap," I assured him; "anyone but a half-blinded inventor could see that."
"Then why didn't she accept me?"
"Do you expect a girl to drop into your mouth like a ripe apple, just because between the intervals of what you regard as more important business you propose to her. Women need to be wooed in order to be won, Weston, and Lady Mabel--very rightly, declined to be considered a side issue of your life interest."
"But I love her no end, Vance."