TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XLI, Issue 2208, 15 August 1910, Page 2

TRACKED BY FATE, OR THE FANSHAWES OF HAVILLANDS.

(All Rights Rppprved->

BY MAURICE SCOTT,

Author of "The Pride of the Morays," "The Mark of the Broad Arrow," “Broken Bonds," etc. etc. ii swore it till he was black in the face ! Where should she go, I’d like to know ? She run away from his grand house an' come here to us, where she tnew she'd a hearty welcome. And why should she go off like that without a word ? She hadn’t got no money neither. Had she, Ju?" " No,’’ replied that individual, equally troubled at Trevedyn’s description of his interview with Mr. Fanshawe, though less boisterous in ner mode of expressing it. " There s ’ all that’s left out o’ the ten pound in your old purse on the mantlepiece. She couldn’t ha’ had a sixpence in her pocket." “ Then she couldn’t ha’ gone anywhere on her own,’’ cried Maggie. " Beside she would never ha’ gone of her own free will without tellin’ Ju where she was goin'. You mgy say what you like, Ju, I’ll never believe it o’ Dorothy." " I ain’t sayin’ nothin’," retorted Ju, " an’ you needn’t make such a row. I’m just as worried as you. It is my belief she’s a relation o’ them Fanshawes “ Did she say so ?” asked Ernest, wondering if Ju knew the truth. " Never a word, sir ; but I’ve lately had a lot of Idle time to think things out. She don’t know her father’s English relations ; but I believe that Fanshawe do, and knows she’s cornin’ in for money, else why do he want to force her to marry his son !’’ Ernest started. Here was an echo of his own thoughts from this poor waif of the streets. "Admittin’ we made a mistake in takin’ her out with us," continued Ju —" it was a mistake, .sir ; we know that. But out with us she was and it ain’t feasible for a rich gent to want to marry a girl not knowin’ who she may be, sir, is It ?’’ " No, by Heaven, it is not !’’ cried Ernest agitatedly. " I believe you you right. I suspected it before, but your words have impressed me with firm conviction. She must be found, though for the moment I was nonplussed by his emphatic denial of her presence in his house." " He’s lyin’," burst out Maggie again—" lyin’ I tell you both ! He’s kidnapped her ; an’ seein’ she won’t marry his son—an’ lovin’ yourself, sir, she’d die first —he’ll murder her if she stands between him an’ money—murder her, that’s what he’ll do.” There was an ominous silence, and even Ernest paled as he remembered his housekeeper’s story of Lemuel Fanshawe’s gipsy relatives, who had forced the old squire to do their bidding " at the point of the knife." And if ever a man looked capable of murder, that man was Lemuel Fanshawe. The silence was painful in its intensity as each looked fearfully at the other ; and then, without warning Maggie suddenly flung open the door, and laid violent hands on something cowering suspiciously near the keyhole dragging into the room a dirty, cunning-faced young urchin of about j twelve or thereabouts. 1 “ Lemme alone, cawn’t yer ! ’’ he I whined, raising his elbow to guard his sharp features, with the instinc- I tive action of the gamin, who anti- j cipates a richly-deserved blow. "I ain’t doin’ no harm, I ain’t !” | " How dare you listen at keyholes, J Jimmy Burris ?’’ cried Maggie, shaking him in anger. “ Lissen !’’ whined Jimmy again. ! “ Ef you wos civlller, p’raps, ’cos o’ j lissenin’ I cud tell ye summat as ye’d be glad to know, fer I lissened w’en 1 t’other covey come up to see her . ’E didn’t know as ’ow he’d lef’ the door unfastened, you bet !’’ " What do you mean, Jimmy ? Tell me this minute." “ Leggo o’ my collar, then. Ah !" ‘ For as the urchin, on being released, made a dive for the door, he found it j shut, and Dr. Treveclyn, with folded ! arms standing in front of it. " Now, young gentleman,” said Ernest, “ you’ve some information to sell. Out with it." “ Wot’ll ye gimme ?” grinned the product of the gutters. I '* What is it worth 7" ** ’Arf a thick-’un, easy.” Trevedyn took out half a sovereign, and held it at arm’s length. “ Go on," he said. “ Not ef I knows it,” replied the artful Jimmy. “ No scores chawked i up at this hestablishment. I tells ye wot ye wants to know, an’ then ye drops that little kine back into yer veskit, an’ w’eer am I ? " ! Only for his anxiety Ernest would have felt amused at the imp’s impertinence. ( "I’ll hold the money till you’ve earned it," suggested Ju. “ May I, sir ?" “ Certainly." 1 " Werry well ; that'll do," replied Jimmy, approvingly. “ My muvver , says you two women is straight. ■ The gent I cawn’t answer fer, bein’ a strynger." “ Don’t be rude, Jimmy," reproved Ju. " Get along if you want this bit , of gold." “ Well, Toosday, I was a-pliyn’ in the road, an’ I see a toff a-comin’ up the street —shiny ’at, shiny boots, gloves on—a reg’lar stunner." " A young man, of course ?’’ put in Ernest, by way of a feeder. “ Naaw, ner yet a hold ’un ; ’betwist an' between—grey 'air an’ a brahn fyce." j The women exchanged glances ; the description sufficed. “ Theer warn’t nobody abaht," went on Jimmy. " The front door’s alius open, an’ 'e nipped upstairs aa sharp as a sparrer, me arter ’im. I j

I know'd you’d a-gone to the ’orspital, an’ she was there by ’erself. An’ fine ! an’ scared she were w’en the toff sprung in on ’er." “ Go on, quick—quick 1" put in Ernest, breathing hard. " What happened then ?" " Nothin’ but jaw," returned Jimmy in a contemptuous tone. “ They both jawed a lot an’ I couldn’t myke 'ed er tyle on. It sim’d ’e wanted 'er to do summat she’d rather not. An’ then as I was gettin' sick on it, the jaw got more’n I c’u’d tumble to, fer he seel ’as ’ow she’d stole ’is missis’s clows, an’ sed as ’ow Ju Andrews 'ud put a coat up the spout, an’ he’d shove bo’ of you inter quodone fer thievin’ an’ t’uther fer receivin’. An’ 'a sed Ju Andrews 'ud git a long spell o’ the stone jug." They all understood now and the two women were sobbing. “ Then what followed ?’’ asked Trevedyn, whose stern, white face produced an almost awe-striking expression on even the irrepressible Jimmy Burris. " Nothin much, sir. They jaw’d some more, an’ then she went away wiv ’im in a ’anaom. She wos a-cry-in’, an' I 'eerd 'im sy ’e’d buy 'er a noo coat on the wy ’ome." " Give him the half-sovereign. Wait ! Did you follow the cab, do you know the number, or where it went ?” “ No, I didn’t, and I don’t," replied Jimmy, ruefully—visions of having been in a position to demand a whole " thick-’un ” had he been more industrious dancing tantalizing before him. "It druv up the street, !an’ turned along the avenoo, an’that wus the end on ut." " Very well ; you can go." " Thank ye, sir.” And Jimmy, with the half-sovereign between his teeth, after bestowing a familiar nod on Ju and Maggie, turned cart-wheels down the stairs in sheer intoxication of spirits over his good fortune. " You see how he lied !” cried Maggie again. "I knew it ! I knew it ! And he forced her to go away with him by his nasty, mean threat of puttin’ Ju in prison.” " An’ I’d rather ha’ gone !" declared Ju. " Gone to gaol an’ faced the worst rather than that she should ha’ had that held over her, the poor innocent. I was a fool to pawn the coat, on’y I didn’t see where food and shelter was cornin’ from if I hadn’t." “ That can and must be remedied at once," said Ernest. " If I give you the money can you get it back now—soon ?’’ " In less than half an hour sir," replied Ju ; " but ” "Do so, please. And remember, Dorothy is to be my wife, so her affairs are mine. And this coat busibess is very distinctly a matter in which she is concerned. I must put it out of Mr. Fanshawe’s power to repeat the threat, which at present he has the power to put into execution. I want to take the coat to him again, and tax him with his treacliery." “ Hurry up, Ju,” cried Maggie. " I wanted to say," replied Ju, hesitating over the bank-notes held out by Trevedyn, " that three months’ rent of ours was paid out o’ that ten pound ; and some of it’s here now. so that Dorothy didn’t benefit " I think- we need not pursue that argument now," interposed Ernest, gently forcing the notes into Ju’s reluctant hand. "There is serious work to do, and no time to lose." “ There is that, Ju," cried Maggie. " Do hurry up !" " And try to think that Dorothy’s friends must be my friends too, and that between friends there is no such thing as obligation," said Ernest. Ju did " hurry up," and a second time that day Dr. Trevedyn presented himself at the house of Mr. Fanshawe at Rutland Gate, on this occasion armed with the portentous Redfern coat, but now released from durance vile. " Not at home, sir." “ At what hour do you expect him to return ?" " I can’t say, sir. Our orders, are ‘ Not at home.’ ” Convinced nothing he could say would gain him admission, Ernest turned back, disappointedly, momentarily at a loss how to act, unless to seek the assistance of a private detective in tracing poor Dorothy from the moment of her departure from Brick-street in the company of Mr. Fanshawe, as described by Jimmy Burris. First, might it not be worth while to run down into Devonshire that night and investigate Havillands ? Some powerful intuition seemed to tell him that only within its walls would the mystery enveloping Dorothy he cleared away ; only amid such isolation could Fanshawe hope to bend the girl to his will. And knowing Ernest to be on her track, it was unlikely she would he detained at Rutland Gate. Yes, he would go down by that night’s train, and firmly fixed in that resolution, took a hansom back to Brick-street to acquaint the partners with his determination, first leaving the coat at Rutland Gate with a note, addressed to Mr. Fanshawe to the effect that should any charge concerning it be preferred against the woman Andrews Dr. Trevedyn would furnish a true statement of the facts to the magistrate before whom she might be brought. " So you need fear nothing,” he said to Ju. " I doubt if ever he would have appeared in open court, though he might have had you arrested had you appeared suspicious." " Thank you, sir," replied Ju ; " though I almost wish you hadn't done it. For now he knows we’ve heard how he got her away, and there’s no tellin’ what he won’t be up to." "And, on the other hand," suggested Trevedyn, “ my message will convey to him the fact that it is in ray power to refute his denial of having seen Dorothy since she left Havillands. But, still, I am uneasy, and unless I find some trace of her tomorrow, I shall set the detectives to work, though there are reasons why 1 should prefer to find her unaided." He was thinking of poor, sensitive

Dorothy’s sufferings should the slur, whether true or false, cast on the name of her beloved mother be dragged into the light of day. " Anyway, you may depend on hearing from me to-morrow," he concluded, "either that I have found out where she is, or else that I am returning to London to-morrow night." While he had been talking Maggie was pinning on her black straw hat and buttoning on a neat, comfortable jacket, purchased for her at Exeter, by Dorothy’s lover, “ An’ you can depend I’m goin’ to keep an eye on Rutland Gate," she said. "If he’s took her to the country, you’ll find her, sir, an’ if she’s shut up in his bouse—well, Ju an’ me’s got to find that out, ain’t we, Ju ?” " Yes. if ho don’t have us locked up for causin’ an obstruction," replied the more practical Miss Andrews. " Rutland Gate ain’t in our district, an’ he could do it easy." “In that case let me know at once," said Ernest, rapidly writing both town and country addresses. “ Heaven speed your efforts." And as the train steamed out of Paddington bearing Ernest Trevedyn in search of his heart’s desire, the partners once more braved the law’s representatives by taking up a position sufficiently near Mr. Fanshawe’s house at Rutland Gate to enable them to see any one entering or leaving it. But although Ju had brought her guitar they made no attempt to draw attention to themselves by singing or playing. The house presented its natural appearance, the upper rooms appeared all lighted, and once Maggie excitedly declared she saw Dorothy’s face at a window, though only for a brief second of time. Towards ten o’clock, as they still patiently waited on, Mr. Fanshawe drove up In a hansom, and keeping well out of sight, they crept sufficiently near to see him in animated discussion with a powdered footman in the hall, evidently Issuing sharp orders to which they paid great deference. " He’s up to somethin’ Ju," whispered Maggie. " Somethin’s goin’ to happen, you’ll see." The something whizzed round a corner at that moment, and they had barely time to get out of the roadway when the Panhard with its great shining lamp sending a broad stream of light in front, while leaving the body of the vehicle in darkness was slowed up and halted at the main entrance to it’s owner’s house. Ju," whispered Maggie, " suppose he’s takin’ her away in it—now to-night ?” "If he’s takin’ her down to his country house the doctor’ll be there as soon as the motor,” replied Ju. " Ah, but s’pose he ain’t takin’ her there. How do we know where he’s takin’ her ? For she’d go with him willin’ now, for fear he’d send you to gaol, Ju." " What can we do ? ” said Ju, with a white, worried face. “If it’s as you say, Mag, an* I don’t deny it’s possible if we went close to the door near enough to speak to her, that flunkey’d give us in charge before we could get a word out. You bet that’s what all that palaver was about between ’em just now. He thinks we might be on the watch, an’ the doctor too." " Then there’s only one thing to do," declared Maggie boldly. " Ju, I’ve got to get into that car an’ hide under the back seat. An’ then, wherever be takes Dorothy, he’s got to take me too. That’s my pitch tonight, Ju !” And Ju looked at her partner, aghast at the daring proposition. CHAPTER XXIV. AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY. “ That’s ray pitch to-night, Ju," repeated Maggie. “ Easier said than done," responded Ju, shaking her head. And so indeed it appeared. For the chaffeur had left the car, and was conversing amiably with the footman upon the front steps leading up to the hall ; and no one could reasonably hope to enter the Panhard without attracting their notice. “ I can see that as well as you,’’ said Maggie, answering Ju’s thought. “You’ll have to strike up an’ sing a bit ; that’ll draw the flunkey out to order you off, an’ you bet t’other chap’s eyes’ll foller him long enough to give me time to jump up an’ in on the dark side." "I*t’s risky,” said Ju. “S’pose Dorothy don’t go in the car to-night ?’’ “ I’ve got to chance that. Even if she don’t I’ll maybe find out what old Fanshawe’s game is. Don’t you worrit about me, Ju. I’m like a cat —bound to come down safe on my pins. Now’s yer time, Ju. Strike up ‘ Down on the Farm,’ an’ it’s long odds I’m snug inside afore you’re through the first verse." “ God bless you, Mag !’’ said the undemonstrative Ju, under a stress of deeper emotion than she was accustomed to display. “ That’s all right, Ju," responded the embarrassed Maggie; unused to such an ebullition of feeling. “He will, never fear. He did when He let me strike the doctor. Now, then, Ju !”. The plan succeeded admirably. At the first chords from the guitar the footman, having received very stringent orders from his master that night, showed such undignified haste in rushing out into the roadway, whence the sounds proceeded, that the chaffeur rendered curious by his demeanour, followed, with a view of learning the cause of the excitement. This afforded Maggie the opportunity she desired, and Ju, ceasing to sing at the footman’s " Clear out of this, or I’ll ’ave ye locked up !” saw the agile form of her partner climb the side of the great motor-car and disappear into the dark interior, as she moved away, and the two men returned to the steps. Then, not daring to approach nearer, she stood opposite, outside the park railings, and after a short period of waiting, saw Mr Fanshawe in a long white overcoat and motoring-cap hand a female figure into the car and take his seat beside her, occupying the driver's seat.

1 Was it Dorothy r Ju was not sum- j j ciently near to distinguish features I hidden behind a thick veil : but her j I heart beat almost to the point of ■ suffocation as she realized that who- j | ever the woman might- be, she was I 1 alone, at- the mercy of Mr. Fanshawe who now sent the Panhard at a tremendous. speed along the road, leaving the chaffeur on the steps conversing with the footman. No, not alone ! Maggie was there, in the back of the car—good, brave Maggie, who had risen so nobly to the occasion, and who, if need be, would give her life in the defence of the girl whom she had promised in the presence of the dead, to protect. Unless — Merciful God I That man was capable of killing both to judge from his face ! But surely some good angel would watch over and guard two helpless women. The impulse upon which Maggie had acted could not possibly have proceeded from an evil influence. In any case, except to pray for their safety with a full heart, Ju felt she was powerless, as she sorrowfully returned to Brick-street, once more alone. Assuredly their charity towards the widow and the orphan seemed to have brought unforeseen events into their previously simple lives ; and whether the result proved beneficial or disastrous, time only could show. “ Anyhow we'd on’y did as we’d hope to be done by,” sighed Ju, looking disconsolately round the now more than ever desolate fourth-floor back. * • • • Meanwhile, Maggie who had tucked herself into as limited a space as allowed by the length of her limbs under the back seat of the Panhard, found herself considerably bumped, and shaken almost into a jelly, as the car whizzed along at a tremendous rate, its hooter sounding at intervals—a hideous and fearful noise in unaccustomed ears, borne on the silence of the night. She had heard a man’s voice, but had no actual knowledge as to the identity of the occupants of the front seat, though she realized after a time that she was alone in the back of the vehicle. And devoutly thankful she was when quite assured on that point. To remain in a recumbent position meant to run the risk of being violently sick, which would lead to discovery and instant ejection, if not imprisonment. Very cautiously, however, she crawled from beneath the seat, and presently succeeded in establishing herself in a sitting position upon the floor of the car—a feat difficult of accomplishment owing to the pace kept up by the driver and the inequality of the roads over which the Panhard fairly rocked as it tore along. For a minute or two Maggie could only hold on with both hands, while she made a hard fight to conquer the sensation of giddiness engendered by the rapid motion. Her brain was in a whirl ; trees, houses, stars, even the sky itself appeared revolving round and round in one vast kaleidoscope of which the rocking motorcar formed the central pivot. But soon the change of posture proved beneficial in effect and she managed to steady herself, to slowly regain control over her power of thought, which had at one moment appeared greatly in peril of being shaken from its balance. Her eyes, however, burned and throbbed so violently that she could distinguish nothing with any degree of certainty, and remembering some advice received from Dr. Trevedyn on the subject of tired eyes, she shut hers for some minutes, her almost dazed condition rendering it of little moment if Mr. Fansnawe should take it into his head to turn round and possibly see her even through the darkness. “ Just for five minutes,” Dr. Trevedyn had said. She only meant to close her eyes for five minuyes. And then the unexpected happened ; for, worn out with the fatigue of her journey up from Exeter of the previous night, in addition to feeling a severe reaction after the mental agitation of the previous day, culminating in the excitement of her present adventure, Maggie’s faculties rebelled against the strain placed upon them, and Dame Nature vigorously assisting in proclaiming her needs, they one by one deserted their posts and before the expiration of the five minutes the younger of the partners wassoundly asleep. And now the Panhard became a veritable cradle, to judge by the composure with which Maggie slumbered through the silent night, undisturbed by the rush and rattle of the car, from which the trees and hedges appeared to shrink in terror, as it whirled past like some strange monster hurrying from a world of turmoil and strife, in which the natural forces were being diverted from their lawful currents to aid men in a daring attempt to penetrate mysteries far beyond the ken of poor humanity. Her hands had loosened their grip, and she had slowly though surely, sunk from her sitting position to a prostrate one on the floor of the carriage, where, on a luxurious rug, she slept as comfortably as others, in different circumstances, might do in bed. And so, all unconscious of his third passenger, Mr. Fanshawe drove his Panhard with unfaltering hands along the dark roads, slowing up occasionally to consult a sign-post or look at his road-map, but only for those purposes pausing in his grim determination not to stop until he had covered the ground between London and Exeter, and deposited the girl—whose very existence seemed a source of trouble - and uneasiness—within the safe walls of Havillands. For it was Dorothy who, seated beside her tjrant as the car seemed to fly through space, on, on, on unceasingly, wondered whether, for some unknown sin, she was doomed to pass the remainder of her life on earth travelling up and down its confines ; at lightning speed in company with this man, who seemed destined to be : her evil genius. Her cup of misery was full to i overflowing and she sat there silent, i motionless, letting even her thoughts ' sink into a stats of numbed apathy,

j from which ehe made no effort to free them. j If any conjecture could be said to cross her mind as to her destination, 'she supposed she was being taken to j Havillands, back to Mrs. Fanshawe, and the hated attempts at lovemaking on the part of Clarence. Should she appeal to Mrs. Fanshawe ? Of what use ? The threat held over the head of poor, kindhearted Ju was the final stroke that broke down Dorothy’s resistance. Better she should endure the worst that could befall than bring disgrace and unmerited calumny on her only friends. For once stamped as a gaol bird, Ju’s means of livelihood would be taken away. Branded as a thief, would she not be “moved on” mercilessly. where now her .acknowledged honesty gained her respect and freedom from interference ? Yes ; that was Indeed a sorrowful truth ; but now Dorothy could think no more. The pain had passed from the acute stage to that of passive, almost numb endurance. She was amply protected with wraps, and enveloped in a huge fur rug. Once or twice when Mr. Fanshawe slowed up, he inquired if she felt the cold : but as she made no answer, he concluded she had fallen asleep and did not attempt to arouse her. “ I wish she slept the sleep that wakes no more,” he muttered- “ Another world ? Pshaw ! There is no other world as far as we are concerned. The dead are dead ; trouble is for the living.” And then with a curse on the unwelcome thoughts that crowded upon him in spite of his efforts to repress them, Lemuel Fanshawe put the Panhard at her full speed, and as the first red streak of light in the east evidenced the dawning of another day although in the dark leaden sky night still struggled for supremacy, the grey chimneys of Havillands could be seen in the distance, and the man endeavoured to still further harden his heartless, inflexible will to the task on which he was bent. It had been a long run, and Dorothy, her senses dumb under the oppression of helpless, hopeless misery, had during the last hour fallen in a condition of torpor bordering on sleep, from which she was aroused by the sudden cessation of the rattling noise and rapid motion to which in the long journey she had grown accustomed. She could scarcely at first realize her surroundings ; and then, pushing up the thick veil from her face, saw she was alone in the car, and that Mr. Fanshawe was endeavouring to unlock a gate which bore the appearance of having been disused for years, and on which rust had been allowed to work its will. . Strange that he should come this way, avoiding the main entrance, where the lodgekeeper could have been so easily summoned. Presently the lock yielded ; and then Dorothy saw it was not of sufficient width to admit the motor-car. “ Let me assist you down,” said Mr. Fanshawe. “ It is not very far to the house.” He offered no further explanation, and Dorothy passively submitted to his outstretched hand. Leaving the car, he led the way through a densely-wooded plantation, where the path was narrow and sometimes difficult to trace in the semi-darkness. Several times the girl’s cramped limbs stumbled and she would have fallen but for Lemuel Panshawe’s timely aid, though presently the revulsion produced by the touch nerved her to . greater powers of endurance and she struggled on alone. At last the great granite walls loomed before them, and Dorothy, for the first time, began to experience a sensation of terror, for there was no sign of life about the place—not the least evidence of human habitation. They were approaching it by the back entrance too—a part long disused and suffered to fall into decay. And then her mind, recovering from its torpor ran rapidly over the secrecy with which she had been conveyed from Rutland Gate, where she was confined to one room, seeing no one save Mr. Fanshawe himself—not even a servant. Then the long night journey in the motor-car, followed by this surreptitious back-door entry into an uninhabited house. There seemed only one explanation possible—he had brought her there to kill her ! She felt her cheeks grow pale, her heart almost cease to beat. Granting that her troubles were almost too great for human endurance, she was so young ; and she was almost surprised to find that she clung so tenaciously to life, and that in that dread moment life and hope were synonymous terms. And there was horror in the idea of meeting death by violence. All this ran quickly through her mind while Mr. Fanshawe, with a second rusty key, had some difficulty in opening a small, unobtrusive door almost hidden in ivy and other creeping foliage. Should she dart back into the plantation, trust to her lightness, her youthful activity, to escape from a heavily-built middle-aged man ? Of what use ? She was still stiff and sore, cramped after the long journey. She would scarcely get many yards ere he must overtake her and the attempt might infuriate him to commit still further violence. And he had got the door open now. She must follow or precede him, as he commanded ; at least, he should not see she was afraid. He stood back with a gesture, and she entered, apparently calm, though j filled with inward apprehension. ! All was silent within—no sound of ' life whatever. She followed unprotestingly along dark corridors and through galleries, the conviction growing and deepening in her mind that she was not intended to leave Havillands alive. j And then Mr. Fanshawe ushered her i into a large, lofty room, where dust and neglect conveyed the impression it had not been entered for years, and where now only a dim light prevailed as the coming dawn struggled to penetrate the strln nf windnv. .

pane visible above the tall, closelybarred shutters. Placing a chair for her he broke the silence : "You perhaps are wondering why I bring you here thus secretly, Ma’m’selle Dorothee ?” " No," she replied, looking him in the eyes. " You mean to murder me 1” (To be Continued.)