The Loudwater Tragedy

by T. W. Speight

A few days later the train deposited Winslade at Solchester, one of those third-rate provincial towns where it is next to impossible to hide anything from one's neighbours, and where it seems to be the rule for everybody to know everything, or to assume that they do, about everybody else's business.

From this it followed that Phil experienced little difficulty in finding plenty of people ready and willing tell him all there was to tell about the early life and antecedents of the Denia Lidington who later on became the wife of Mr. James Melray. The fact of her husband's tragical fate and the mystery which still enshrouded his death, had served to bring everything connected with her freshly to people's minds; indeed, the good folk of Solchester had come to look upon the Loudwater Tragedy as being a matter which concerned them nearly, if not quite, as much as their Merehampton neighbours.

The one fresh fact pertinent to his inquiry elicited by Winslade was that, while still little more than a school-girl, Miss Lidington had had a very pronounced flirtation with a handsome, but impecunious, ne'er-do-well, Evan Wildash by name, which had so alarmed the girl's uncle that he had sought out the young fellow and had there and then made him an offer of two hundred pounds on condition that he took himself off for good and all to one or other of the colonies. This Wildash had made no difficulty in doing, and, a couple of years later, tidings, the authenticity of which nobody had seen reason to doubt, had come to hand of his death by fever at the Cape. In any case, Evan Wildash had never been seen in Solchester again.

The information thus obtained seemed to Robert Melray to supply strong and convincing reason for accepting as an authentic record the MS. which such a strange chance had put into the hands of Mr. Timmins. To him it now appeared clearly manifest that Wildash had not died abroad as was reported, but had come back, had surreptitiously sought out the Denia Lidington of former days, had had more than one meeting with her, the last of which had been interrupted by the justly indignant husband, and that in the quarrel which ensued the latter had been foully murdered. Of all this Robert Melray was fully convinced in his mind. Scarcely more difficult did he find it to believe that Wildash himself was the writer of the MS. (although what his object had been in penning such a document was by no means clear), as also that he was the unknown man who was killed in the railway accident.

Winslade, while fully admitting the plausibility of the theory thus advanced, was by no means inclined to allow his judgment to be overridden by opinions so positive as those cherished by Mr. Melray. That the latter's theory might prove to be in consonance with the facts of the case, should those facts ever be brought to light, he was quite open to allow; but, on the other hand, there was a possibility that it might be at total variance with the truth. What he was willing to grant was that, had such a thing been feasible, it might have been advisable to reopen the case on the assumption that the statements embodied in the manuscript might be based on certain circumstances which all previous inquiries had failed to elicit.

But to have gone to the widow and challenged her with being cognisant of the existence and return of Wildash, as also with being an accessory after the event, if not a passive agent at the scene of her husband's death, would have been a brutal thing to do in any case, and infinitely more so in the event of the theory of her having had a former lover who was implicated in the affair turning out to be nothing more than a wild invention on the part of the writer of the manuscript. Be the truth what it might, such an accusation would only be met by an indignant denial, and one which there would be no means whatever of refuting. Finally, the two men parted without having arrived at a decision of any kind, to meet again by appointment a couple of days later.

Then Mr. Melray said to Winslade, "It seems clear to me that I can do nothing, that I am bound hand and foot. Unless some further evidence bearing on my brother's fate, of which at present we have no cognisance, should turn up from some unexpected quarter, the mystery must rest where it does. It is a terribly unsatisfactory state of affairs, but one which I am powerless to alter."

It was at Mr. Layland's house that the meeting took place; and now, when Phil rose to take his leave, the merchant, who had been present at the interview, pressed him so cordially to stay and dine that he could not well have refused, even had he been wishful of doing so.

As they sat after dinner over their wine, Robert Melray said to his friend: "You have helped me from time to time in more ways than I could reckon up, and now I want you to help me once more. My mother has given me orders to look out for a governess for my little boy. He is just turned six, and I am told that his education is being shamefully neglected. Now, if you and Miss Layland will put your heads together and pick me out a likely person for the post in question, you will oblige me more than I can say."

Phil pricked up his ears. Miss Mawby had died quite suddenly about three weeks before, and Fanny Sudlow was already looking out for another situation. After spending a few days at home she had gone to stay for a time at the house of one of her old school friends who was lately married. Her mother had not yet forgiven her for her refusal to break off her engagement to Phil, and Fanny felt that, for the sake of domestic peace and harmony, it was better that they should still remain apart; besides which she had no inclination to again become a burden on her father's resources, which were taxed to the utmost by the necessity of having to provide for those younger than herself. All these were matters within Phil's cognisance.