THE WRONG ROAD

Evening Star, Issue 7628, 2 June 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE WRONG ROAD

BY HOOK OR CROOK.

Ma.t. r Arthur Griffiths, Author of ' Fast and Loose,' 'Locked Up,' Etc.] (All Rights Reserved.) VOL. 111.-CHAPTER XLVIII. CHANGING TROSPKCTS. The discovery of the Inverness was undoubtedly a new departure. Even Earswick felt this, although with professional caution he pretended still to be sceptical. But Gibbings had no prejudices to overcome ; besides, he was positive where the police officer was still open to doubt. Earswick might suspect that Gibbings was concerned in the concealment of the cloak ; Gibbings, better informed, was certain he had had no part in it. Recent events had undoubtedly thrown a new complexion over the Lezaire caße. Many new and strange facts had transpired since Gibbings had come to Straddlethorpe. It seemed his bounden and immediate duty to lay them all before his old master, with whom he had had no communication for some time past. Beyond a short telegram that he had been detained in Thorpeshire, and which—being, as we are aware, no scholar—he had dictated to a postal clerk, he had as yet given no account of his movements. He intended to do so by word of mouth the first chance he got of slipping up to town. Caution was more than ever necessary now, as well as despatch. So pleading as an excuse a summons to the Army Pension Office, he got a day's leave from Sir Hubert, and took the first train to town. He reached Harrop's Green early in the forenoon, and found the house topsy-turvy, littered and half dismantled, with every indication of another move. The Colonel was at the ticket-office, but Airs St. Evelyn quickly explained that they were on th* point of leaving England, all of them, for a long time, perhaps for good and all. To better themselves? Why, of com so—the Colonel had got an excellent situation; and sitting there amidst the packing - cases, Rachel gleefully told Gibbings all about it. There had been little change with the St. Evelyns since we left them until within the last few weeks, when all at once, as so often happens in life, an entirely new prospect had opened before them quite suddenly and unawares. It was all through Mr Carrington Lomas, who, since their first meeting, had never ceased to show a friendly interest in them all. He had become almost an old friend, and he proved it by those little attentions the rich can give, and the poor, however proud, accept, without patronage on the one side and loss of self-respect upon the other. Mrs St. Evelyn never wanted now for flowers, the children for fruit, nor St. Evelyn himself for the Bavoury food he still loved as in happier days—a fine salmon, a box of grouse straight from the moors, plump partridges, or a Michaelmas goose, were gifts he still thoroughly appreciated. "Upon my soul," he said, "I ought to call and thank him. He's monstrous kind, this Mr Lomas." "Do, dearest, the first day you are off duty. If you only leave a card." "That would look pretentious in my present position. No, I will try and find him at home. I am genuinely obliged to him, and should like to say so in so many words." The call was made, the visit presently returned. The old gentleman, who, though brusque and sharp-spoken, was clearly a kindly, philanthropic soul, pressed the St Evelyns to bring their children for a run in his garden. " Whenever and as often as you please, he repeated more than once, and they took him at his word. It was on one of these happy afternoonsmost pleasant perhaps to the country-bred Rachel, who in her diugy London home ever pired for the green turf and shady woods of Straddlethorpe—that Mr Lomas took St. Evelyn aside, and rather bluntly, but with the heightened color of a shy man approaching a delicate subject, said—- " Why do you stop on at Harrop's Gr en, Colonel ? The place isn't half good enough for you." " Beggars must not be choosers, Mr Lomas. It gives us bread, and that's something. Besides, where am Ito get anything better ? Prejudice is strong against a man like me, after what I've been through." " Stuff and nonsense ! That's rather in your favor. I think you were very hardly used." "You know the facts ? You have followed the case 1" asked at. Evelyn brightening at the svmpathy shown. " Certainly. I made it my business some time ago, in fact as soon as I found out—l mean, aa soon as I knew exactly who you were. But I have a particular reason in asking you whether you are wedded_ to the aervice'of the North-Eastern Extension Railway Company and the ticket-office at Harrop'B Green. : ' "Perhaps you mean to offer me something better?" said St. Evelyn with a pleasant laugh. " Well, that's about it. The only point is whether you care to go abroad ?" St. Evelyn's face fell, and with a gesture of disappointment he pointed to his children tumbling about at their mother's feet on the lawn. "They could go with you, if thats all. It's not a bad climate—on the contrary ; and just the country for the growing family of, pardon me, a poor man." "lam deeply grateful to you for your kindness, Mr Lomas, and were I alone in the world would unhesitatingly accept your offer at once, in the hearty spirit In which it is made. But you will understand why I wish first to know more." " You have every right to know—l will tell you in half-a dozen words. I have some large works in Nova Scotia, minos more exactly, coal mines, but they are not underground. There is a large output, and we employ a number of hands. It is a long way off, and I am not satisfied with the returns. A closer supervision, stricter management, exercised by someone accustomed to command and therefore determined to be obeyed, is, I think, indispensable. You are just the sort of man I want. Will you go out as manager for me ?" St. Evelyn put out his hand, saying frankly and without hesitation—- •' Yes, of course I will go, and as soon as you please." " Wait, wait; let me tell you something more of the place, of the salary, and so forth. I must indeed," he went on, seeing the Colonel would have interrupted him; " it's only business. Two thousand dollars a year—that's four hundred pounds—with house and garden, coals free—they're cheap enough there—and a prospective pro rata increase according as you increase the returns. Will that suit you ?" " My dear Mr Lomas, don't say another word. I'm your man, and would be for half the money. Here, Rachel, Rachel! come over and hsar the good news." There wero tears of gratitude in the gentle wife's eyes when she heard Mr Lomas's liberal offer, so kindly and thoughtfully made. " You have been a true friend to us, Mr Lomas—far kinder, indeed, than some nearer and " She paused, hesitating to reproach her mother. "And dearer. Not quite that, Rachel, her husband added for her. " There is not one spark ol affection left in Lady Lezaire." "Hush, Ferdinand, please." Sweet Rachel would not allow another word. " But our gratitude to you is sincere and very deep, Mr Lomas. How shall we repay "The obligation is on my side. Colonel St. Evelyn is just the person I want." "He is a first-rate man of business really," said the little woman bravely, and with such energy that both the gentlemen laughed, " and he will serve you as honestly and faithfully as your great, great kindness deserves. It is the very least return we can make." T " I promise tnat upon my honor. 1 can say no more," added St. Evelyn, with characteristic abruptness. " When would you like me to go out?" " When would it suit you ? I am rather anxious, I must confess, to make the change. I do not wish to press you, of course, but the winter begins early there, and

"An old soldier is always iu marching order. My heavy baggage is light enough nowadays, even with these impedimenta,'' and he looked laughingly at his wife and the children now clinging to her dress. " I will secure your passages forthwith—for, say, this day month. And you will, of course, require an advance —of what ? Half-a year's salary—will that do ? To be repaid by instalments." n " We could not possibly accept so much, began Rachel, falteringly. " Why, you have warm clothing to lay in —furs, blankets, all sorts of supplies. It shall be sent you to-morrow or better, Colonel, you shall draw on me for the ainuunt you require." That was a happy evening—the happiest they had spent in Harrop's Green since thty came to livethere—the happiest almost since the days at Trouville, now so long, long ago. " I shall not be sorry to leave England for good and all," said St. Evelyn, cheerfully. " Nor I," echoed Rachel, but with less assurance. "We will make a new home for ourselves—a new life out there. There is nothing here to regret, no one " Again she hesitated, thinking sadly of her mother, still bitter and estranged, whom probably she would never see again. "No one—but Gibbings. But he must come out to us. We shall be sure to find him a good place. There are plenty in these new lands, and he is just the man to prosper there." These were the very words Mrs St. Evelyn repeated to the trusty man-servant when she had told him all the story; and the Ctloml coming in just then, added his entreaties that Gibbings should join them in Nova Scotia. " I can bo of more use, I take it, at home, aB I think you will agree with me when I tell you what's turned up at Straddlethorpe." And he proceeded to recount bis recent adventures at the Hall. His news was stranger and even more startling than that of the St. Evelyns; and when he had described all he had seen and heard, ending with the discovery ol the Inverness, a very animated discussion followed, to the exelusion of every other topic. "It was hidden, of course," said the Colonel. " But why there, and by whom ?" "Of course it was done on purpose," said Gibbings. "It's disappearance was part of the plot against you, Colonel." "Implying that it had been made away with," went on Mrs St. Evelyn, bringing a woman's quick wita to bear upon the question. " But that was a later thought, I expect. It was of course abstracted in the first instance to be used as a disguise." "In personating me, in fact," said the Colonel. " And it was so used—we have the ehemist's evidence for that. No doubt the person who bought the arsenic wore your Inverness, Ferdinand." " That's as clear as noonday. The next point is to discover the person." " It was someone at the Hall." "Or someone at the Hall was in it. How else could the Inverness be abstracted ?" "Hubert Podifat?" suggested the Colonel, quickly. " Wicked wretch ! Could he have killed dear Carysfort, for whom he expressed such ardent affection ? Oh, no—impossible ! And for other reasons." " I should like to hear them," paid the Colonel. "Who benefited most by Carysfort's death ?" "That could not have affected Hubert's succession. He would still have succeeded, had Carysfort been alive, directly the papers—papa's papers, I mean—had been found." "And he had nothing to do with the finding of them," said Gibbings. "It was the housekeeper, wasn't it—Mrs Leleu 1" " Mrs Leleu!" cried Mrs Evelyn, catching at the words "An evil woman—l never liked her face. And what is this you say, Gibbings, of the power she seems to wield over Podifat ?" Mrs St. Evelyn would never have conceded the name of Lezaire to the present holder of the title. "It certainly brings Mrs Leleu into the business, but how or why I cannot for the life of me see," said the Colonel, rather bewildered. " if you did, dearest, the whole mystery would be unravelled; and we mustn't expect that at one stroke." "What has become of Mrs Leleu?" asked the Colonel. "She is living at Bulkeley Wells, or was," said Gibbings. " I saw a letter addressed to her there." "Mamma is going on there this week from Beachborough, where she has spent the summer. Frisby, her maid, wrote me word." " Perhaps your mother will keep her eye j on Mrs Leleu, just to oblige us," said the Colonel, sarcastically. " Not that she has ever done much in that way." "I was thinking I'd run over to Bulkeley Wells now and again," said Gibbings. "It's no great distance from Straddlethorpe. If my lady's there, old Podifat will perhaps turn up too, and I'd like to know what he's got to say to her." " Ask Lady Lezaire herself, she'll be sure to tell you," laughed St. Evelyn. "If anything, she's as fond of you as she is of me." CHAPTER XLIX. BULKELEY WELLS. Bulkeley Wells is a health-resort on the edge of the Thorpeshire wolds. It lies on the northern bank of the Straddle, a picturesque hamlet lying low in a deep sinuous valley, well sheltered from wintry winds. The climate is unusually mild for England, the air pure and bracing—thanks to the elevation—while the discovery of certain mineral waters of supposed wondrous efficacy have added greatly to the attractions of the place. In spite of its natural advantages, the village is only a village still, with a single street of stone - built but unpretending cottages with moss-grown roofs, an ancient pariah church, and half-a-dozen shops in the market square. One of these is a confectioner's, which provides " meat" and " sweet" teas for the crowds that come in ran-loads from the eastern end of Thorpeshire, and which would drive a roaring trade but for the public-house on the other side of the way. Local enterprise, anxious to encourage visitors of a better class, backed up by local capital, has endowed Bulkeley Wells with a few houses of a better sort—villas, standing single or semi-detached, with gardens ending on the shady walk which margins the river. But the new hotel is the great attraction at Bulkeley Wells, an imposing, not to say pretentious edifice, standing hign upon the hillside, and appropriately styled the Palatial. The house stands in extensive grounds of its own, with lodge gates, a long carriage-drive, shrubberies, plantations, and a broad expanse of ornamental water. The external aspect is that of a country mansion —imide, the gorgeouß decoration, the profusion of cheap gilding and showy upholstery, are rather those of a French restaurant or a foreign casino. But the outlay had been well expended. The Palatial Hotel hj very popular with a large class in Thorpeshire, and beyond it. There is a great run on the house at certain seasons; every bedroom is engaged, every seat at the table d'Mte in the grand dining hall, where the fare is of the most liberal Thorpeshire kind The hotel was quite full when Lady Lezaire arrived from Beachborough. It was late in the afternoon, and she nad had a long journey. She had not secured rooms in advanco, and the manager received her in a very offnand way. "I'm sorry, but I don't see how I'm to help it, if the house is full. People must write beforehand," he said brusquely. Lady Lezaire grew very indignant at this reception in Thorpeshire, within easy reach of Straddlethorpe, where she had once reigned supreme, and turning to her maid, she cried—"Don't havo the baggage brought in, Frisby. We will go somewhere else." "This is the only hotel at Bulkeley Wells," went on the manager, exulting. "Very well, my lady," answered the maid, as she ran down the steps to the fly. The manager had pricked up his ears at the address, and he quickly followed to inquire who "my lady" was. The name 1 of Lezaire was familiar enough to him, and he came back at once, with altered, now obsequious manner,

" I could give your ladyship a room ; it is a good room, although rather high, and perhaps change it for a better within the week." "I shall not stay a week. I intend to take a house ; but anything will do for tonight. 7. shall want a private sitting room." " That, my lady, is absolutely impossible. There isn't one vacant, not one. But you will not need it. We have magnificent public rooma, a special boudoir for the ladies, a ball room, reading room—ample accommodation." "I don't choose to herd with the crowd," replied Lady Lezaire, loftily. " At least you'll join the table d'h6te dinner at six, my lady, I hope," said the manager, insinuatingly. " I think not. I will have tea in my own room." "I am truly sorry, deeply grieved, indeed, my lady, but that is against the ruleß of the house. Nothing is served in the bedrooms except in case of illness." " What a detestable hotel!" said Lady Lezaire. " Where is my room ? I suppose I must stay—l can't help myself ; but it shall only be for the night." Lady Lezaire liked the place less than ever when, summoned by a noisy gong an hour or two later, she descended to the dining room, and after waiting humbly on the good pleasure of the head-waiter, was presently given a seat at a small side table, which accommodated the overflow from the main table d'hCte. The moment she took her place, and before she had swallowed a mouthful of soup, her neighbors on either side began talking to her. The absence of ceremony was a chief feature of the Palatial Hotel. Acquaintances commenced always at the table d'hdte, and generally without introduction. Lady Lezaire did not know this, and she was in no humor to welcome such overtures. For a perfect stranger to address her was an unwarrantable liberty, which she would have at once resented by leaving the table, only she was hungry and wanted her dinner. So when one neighbor, an oldish gontleman with a strong Thorpeshire accent, suggested pleasantly that she had only just come a fact she knew muoh better than he did—and when her other neighbor, an overdressed youth with an affected drawl, asked her whether she liked Bulkeley Wells, and meant to make a long stay, she merely put up her eye-glass and stared insolently at each of them, without making any reply. She took refuge in her eye-glass from further annoyance, and sitting bolt-upright in her chair, with calm insolence proceeded to survey the strange company in which she found herself. There must have been at least a hundred people dining. The largest number occupied a great table running down the centre of the room, on each side of which were smaller tables, such as that at which Lady Lezaire was seated, one in each of the four corners of the room. She had an excellent view of everyone except those whose backs were to her. " What a collection !" was her mental comment, as she noted the varieties of female costume, mostly an exaggerated burlesque of recent fashions, and the pretentious airs of the men, whose common looks were enhanced, not improved, by correct evening attire. "Where can they come from ? Not Thorpeshire, surely. I never thought the county contained so many extraordinary people." And not a face she knew ! A Thorpeshire watering-place the Thorpeshire accent running like a refrain through all the buzzing talk, yet not a soul she had ever met in the Thorpeshire that had been so long her home! Stay !—that dark, sallow-faced woman, with tho coal-black hair and fierce dark eyes. No stranger, surely ? Again and again Lady Leziire, with the vexed uncertainty of a short-sighted woman, examined through her eye-glass the features that seemed so familiar. " I ought to know her, and I do, I am sure of it; but I cannot put a name to her. Who can it be ?" More and more worried and intrigue"e as positive recognition evaded her, she turned at length to one of the neighbors she had so cruelly snubbed, and tried to make amends. She chose the younger; the elder, when first repulsed, had so concentrated his attention upon his plate that he was now purple and past conversation. "The hotel is very full, apparently," said her ladyship, civilly. "Many nice people here ?" "Shoals." " You know them all, I suppose ?" "All the best, certainly," he replied, gratified at the compliment. "Can you tell me who that lady is near the top of the table on the far Bide—a dark woman, in black velvet and " " Where ? There ? Oh yea ! I know. A very charming person—a great traveller—knows the world, and haß moved in the best society." " Can you tell me her name ?" "Skene, Mrs Marmaduke Skene, from London and New York. That is what is entered in the visitors' book." "Mrs Skene? Oh !" and Lady Lezaire dropped her eyeglass, having no further interest in the matter. She had never met or known a Mrs Skene, and supposed she had been misled by this woman's resemblance to someone else. The dinner was interminable. Course succeeded course, and the guests did ample justice to all. Lady Lezaire grew bored and wearied long before it ended, and taking up her gloves began her preparations for leaving the table. " The sweets ain't 'arf done yet. There a a Bakewell pudding to come—better wait for it," muttered the old gentleman in a thick voice. t t " You know there's to be music in the drawing room after dinner," suggested the youth. " I suppose you want to secure a good place and a comfortable arm-chair. There's a great rush amongst the dowagerß for the armchairs." No woman likes to be called a dowager, even at eighty ; and Lady Lezaire flattered herself she still looked young. "Sir!" she said angrily, forgetting she had herself encouraged him to talk to her, " you are very impertinent. I am not going to the drawing room, but to my own room. I prefer my own company to that of people I don't know." So saying, she rose and left the room. An hour later her maid found her yawning over a book, and utterly bored with life. The prospect before her was dreary enough—she was quite alone in the world, with comparatively straitened meaßß, after enjoying every luxury ; she had no longer a home, no hearth, no family, no children of her own ; the boy she had doted on dead, murdered, as was still her firm and unaltered conviction; her remaining child estranged from her, having thrown in her lot for ever with a double-dyed villain whom it was impossible to forgive. "Frisby, you needn't unpack much,' said Lady Lezaire ; " I certainly shan't stay here, probably not over to-morrow. I think I shall leave England go away south to the Riviera. I have friends at Cannes. Besides, one is more likely to meet gentlefolk out there than in these second-rate hotels at home." "They ain't muoh, my lady, in this house," replied Frisby, with conviction. " Have you seen anyone you know ?" " Well, my lady, I have—the last person I'd have expected. Perked up and dressed up to the nines, holding her head high, and sitting at the beßt table the same as your ladyship ! I never knew such impudence." "Why, Frisby, you are getting quite warm. Who can it be ?" "That Mrs Leleu, my lady, who was housekeeper at the Hall under your ladyship. Don't you remember her ? '' " Of course; now I understand." The puzzle of the familiar face seen at the dining table was now solved. Tho woman sho had recognised was no other than her old housekeeper, Mrs Leleu. "You are quite positive of this, Frisby. Have you spoken to her ? Did she answer to her name ?" " Name indeed ! she's dropped that. It's well, perhaps, she should. I Beed her walking out with the rest of the fine folk from the dining room, and I knew her directly ; but I asked one of the waiters, just to make sure, if he could tell me what she called | herself. 'Mrs Skene,' says he,' Mrs Marmaduke Skene.' That's not the right name, as you know, my lady ; but I suppose she didn't want to be remembered as Mre Leleu. It's her, right enough. Is it likely I'd

forget I •• . iii-l we living together for three years ai the ti..!l'. " No doubt remained in Lady Lezaire's mind that Mrs Leleu and Mrs Marmaduke Skene were one and the same person. The wish to conceal her identity and former line of life was sufficient explanation of the change of name. "Have you spoken to her, Frisby? Do you thing she saw you ? " " 'Tisn't likely, my lady ; I'd rather have nothing to say to her now." "Better not, Frisby. The woman is in a false position, although that's nobusinessof ours. I don't suppose she will claim acquaintance with you, and in any case I shall leave the hotel to-morrow." (To be continued.)