AT this time Lord Hardcastle began to be a daily visitor at the High Elms. “My own house is very dreary to me,” he had said, “may I come to you very often for an hour or so, without feeling I am intruding?” And Mr. Warden had bade him welcome, but had warned him that he would find the High Elms more than “dreary.” “To me the place is silent and gloomy as a vault or grave-yard,” he said, “but I am sure the presence of a real friend like yourself will be a great comfort to Mrs. Warden, now that I am such a poor companion for her.” Thus, it came to pass that daily, about noon, Lord Hardcastle might be seen riding up the steep avenue which led to Mr. Warden’s house, returning generally about dusk to his solitary dinner, for being an orphan, and without any near relative, and naturally of a studious, reserved disposition, his privacy was very seldom broken into by chance visitors, or casual acquaintances.
As time went on, however, he frequently accepted Mr. Warden’s invitation to dine and sleep at his house; and on these occasions he would devote the entire morning to Mrs. Warden and her occupations; generally after lunch walking or riding with Mr. Warden. Thus, a week or ten days slipped away; Frank Varley and his band of volunteers working hard meantime. Then suddenly, an unexpected calamity befel the village of Harleyford—an epidemic of small-pox broke out, and threatened to be of a virulent nature. A groom of Mr. Warden’s, calling on one of the villagers, caught the disease, and returned to the High Elms, only to sicken and die. Mr. Warden, habitually kind and thoughtful to his dependants, had had the best local medical advice that could be procured, and in addition, nurses, and all approved disinfectants, &c., from the Dunwich Fever Hospital. Yet, in spite of these precautions. Lord Hardcastle, one morning, on entering the house, was met by the housekeeper with a face so long and melancholy he could see at once some fresh calamity had occurred.
“What is it, Mrs. Nesbitt?” he enquired, without waiting for the old lady to speak, “Has your master or mistress taken the infection, or if not, what has happened?”
“Both, I fear, sir, are seized,” replied the housekeeper, sadly; “I have sent for Doctor Mills and Doctor Hayward, and two additional nurses from the hospital; but as yet, no one has come. And oh, sir! something else has happened: Lucy Williams has disappeared in some mysterious manner; not a soul has seen her since last night. It seems, indeed,” added the old lady, clasping her hands, while the tears rained from her eyes, “as though a curse had fallen upon the house. Where will it all end! Heaven knows: I tremble to think who may be taken next.”
This was startling news indeed, although, perhaps, nothing more than might have been expected from the state of affairs at the High Elms. Mr. and Mrs. Warden’s health had been considerably shaken by the days and nights of suspense they had passed through. Consequently it would not be a matter of surprise if they were the next to fall victims to the disease.
Then again with regard to Lucy Williams, were they not watching the girl, and waiting for her to make a move in some direction?
However, there was no time to be lost in speculation, there was work to be done. Lord Hardcastle wrote a brief note to Varley—
“Leave off your searching and dragging at once; there is something else for you to do. Lucy Williams has disappeared. Come over immediately. I will have all necessary information collected, and ready to place in your hands by the time you arrive. This, if you will, you can convey to Inspector Hill, Scotland Yard. It may save time. Start, if possible, by the 2.10 p.m. train.
“HARDCASTLE.”
This note he despatched by one of the grooms, mounting the man on his own horse, a high-bred roan, which knew how to go like the wind when need was. Unfortunately there was some uncertainty as to where Varley was to be found. The rectory in those days saw but little of him, and his work had lately taken him to a woodland some four or five miles distant.
Hither the man, by Lord Hardcastle’s direction, rode in quest, only, unfortunately, to see the volunteers returning by different routes, after another fruitless search. On enquiry, he found that Varley had ridden still farther on to the nearest post-town, most likely on some false scent.
Hither again the man followed him, and, fortunately, met him slowly riding towards home, thinking, perhaps, of another day of useless search ended, and where it would be best to recommence on the morrow.
He read Hardcastle’s note, and then looked at his watch. The hands pointed at two o’clock.
“Here,” he exclaimed in a perfect whirl of passion and vexation, “have I been wasting precious time over this confounded woodland, and the real work waiting for me! That girl will have twenty-four hours start of us. No train till 6.30 to-night! Arrive at London about nine o’clock. The police, I suppose, set to work the first thing in the morning! The girl has a fair chance of escape, I must say, but, thank Heaven, there is something definite to be done at last! Here,” he called to the groom, “ride alongside of me, and tell me all that is to be known about the girl Williams and her flight!”
But the man had little, or nothing, to tell beyond the fact that the girl had gone. All his information had been obtained at second-hand, and, like the housekeeper and other servants, the man seemed almost bewildered with the strange events occurring in such rapid succession in the household.
Meantime Lord Hardcastle was carefully collecting all the information that was to be had relative to the girl’s disappearance, questioning each of the servants in succession.
It appeared she had taken her supper with the other servants as usual at 10 o’clock on the previous night, or rather had attempted to do so, for she complained of feeling very ill, of pains in her head and back, and declared she was unable to eat. One of the maids had taunted her by enquiring whether it was the same sort of head-ache she had had when Detective Hill was in the house. This was met by an indignant rejoinder, and then the girl angrily left the room, as the others thought, to go to bed. The next morning she did not make her appearance at the servants’ breakfast, and the housekeeper, with whom Lucy was somewhat a favourite, determined to allow her a little latitude, thinking possibly the girl might really need rest and quiet.
Time slipped by, and Mrs. Nesbitt, occupied in household matters, did not again think of Lucy Williams until about half-past ten; then going to her room to enquire for her, found the door locked, and received no reply to her repeated knockings. Without consulting her master, she desired one of the men to break open the door, and entering, found that the bed had not been slept in, and the room in a great state of confusion. They had not had time to inform their master of the fact, before his bell was rung hurriedly, and he gave orders that Dr. Hayward should immediately be sent for, as Mrs. Warden and he were feeling far from well. “Stricken in body, as well as mind, Nesbitt,” he had said sadly. “It doesn’t matter much, there is not a great deal left to live for now.”
Mrs. Nesbitt had not dared to inform him of the fresh calamities. “And I am indeed thankful, sir,” added the poor old lady, “that you have come into the house to lift some of this heavy responsibility off my shoulders.”
“Let me see Lucy’s room, Mrs. Nesbitt,” said Lord Hardcastle.
The housekeeper immediately conducted him to the servants’ quarters.
“Is this exactly the condition in which you found the room?” he enquired, as Nesbitt threw back the door for him to enter.
“Indeed, sir, and I grieve to say that it is,” she replied. “To think that any young girl in this house could leave a room in such a state is more than I can understand,” and she sighed again.
Lord Hardcastle looked attentively round. A box, half open, and the contents partially drawn out, stood at the foot of the bed. A dress, bonnet and walking jacket lay upon a chair, evidently thrown there in a hurry, and a whole pile of burned letters was heaped in the fire-grate. Here and there the charred scraps had been fluttered on to the floor, most likely by the rapid passing and re-passing of the girl while preparing for her flight.
“And to think that we might all of us have been burned in our beds last night,” moaned the housekeeper, “for aught she cared, the wicked girl!”
“Tell me, Mrs. Nesbitt,” interrupts Lord Hardcastle, “do you know the extent of Lucy Williams’s wardrobe? how many bonnets or hats had she do you think?”
“It’s that which puzzles me, sir. I know for certain, she had but two, for she told me only yesterday, she would not buy another just now, in case we might have to go into mourning for our dear young lady, and she complained that both were so shabby she was ashamed to be seen in them. And there they both are; she must have left the house with nothing on her head.”
“Or else in some one else’s!” remarks Lord Hardcastle. “It was yesterday you say she spoke of her hats; from her remarks I should imagine her flight was not thought of until suggested by the taunts of the other maid. Consequently her plans would not be properly matured nor well laid. So much the better for our chance of finding her. Tell me, Mrs. Nesbitt, could you or any one else speak as to the contents of Miss Warden’s wardrobe, and had Lucy Williams any means of access to it.”
“She had sole charge of it, sir, after our dear young lady left. You see Mrs. Warden and every one else so liked and trusted Lucy that everything was left in her hands, except the jewel case, which was removed to Mrs. Warden’s room. I don’t believe any one but Lucy could speak for a certainty as to what Miss Warden had or had not.”
“We will go now, if you please, to Miss Warden’s room,” says Lord Hardcastle, giving one more glance at the untidy chamber. “This door must be secured and sealed till the police have seen the room. I will see if by any chance she has left any letters behind her.”
But on looking through the drawers and boxes no papers of any sort are to be found, and it seems to the housekeeper, that few if any of the girl’s clothes have been removed.
In an hour’s time, Lord Hardcastle has a small packet of carefully written notes ready for Varley’s assistance and guidance.
“I have not time,” he wrote, “to give you in detail the bases upon which my suppositions rest, I have simply dotted down one or two facts which I have ascertained beyond doubt, and one or two ideas which may perhaps be useful to you.
“In the first place, the girl’s flight if intended at some future period, was certainly not thought of for to-day, until late last night. This I am sure of from the hurried and scanty nature of her preparations.
“Secondly, she has not gone away in her own clothes, but most likely in Miss Warden’s; at any rate in one of Miss Warden’s bonnets and walking jackets.
“Thirdly, she has most probably appropriated other properties of Miss Warden’s, as the young lady’s room and its contents have been left in her sole charge.
“Hence it follows (fourthly), that she has probably taken the train to London, travelling by the first this morning, as she would be anxious to dispose of her spoil and would only dare to do so in the metropolis.
“Fifthly, the girl has gone away very ill. My own impression is, that the small-pox is in her system, and that she will not hold up as far as to London.
“Sixthly, her only friend in London, as far as can be ascertained, is a Miss or Mrs. Kempe, who resides at 15, Gresham Street North, High Street, Hackney.”