TRESCOBELL.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 21030, 14 November 1931, Page 14 (Supplement)

TRESCOBELL.

CHAPTER Vm.—(Continued).

" Well,-\ r ou promised me ?" she said, " and now you boast of keeping your word. Is it anything to boast about? Besides, didn't I promise you that some time you should know all about me ?" " Yes, you did, and now I claim the fulfilment of that promise." " What shall I tell you?" • »' "First of all your name," I made answer. " Then tell me why you are so interested.in the Trescobell Ruins that you you camo liere.f t midnight, and refused to allow me to see you home." " I have no home," and I thought there was something plaintive and pathetic in her tones. " Then where did you go when you left me •" , , M IT At this slie laughed almost gaily, and 1 began to 'correct my first impressions of her'. I have said that feature for feature she was replica of Mary Prynne; indeed that they were ce much alike that I had taken the one .for the other. I have also said that what differentiated them was the look in their eyes; but Mnry Prynne's eyes were laughter loving and suggested humour while in this girl's eyes I had seen only hauteur and anger. But they had changed now, and I saw that she too had the gift of seeing the humorous side of a situation. And yet. she was altogether different from Mary Prynne. Although their features seemed identical, for I could not help believing that, and I still believe that any strange!' seeing the two girls as I saw them would be led to the same conclusion; and yet their personalities were different. The South African girl was, as I could not help realising, h child of the people; while the one«wlio stood before me was in some way far removed from her. I felt I knew as little or as much of one as of the other, and yet I thought of them differently. _ I could talk freely with the African girl, and yet while this<afternoon especially, this girl spoke to mo in a friendly manner, an invisible something seemed to lie between us. And yet her next words ought to have removed anything which kept me- fro™ thinking of "her as a stranger. "If I itm to treat you as father confessor," and there was laughter not only in her eyes, but in her voice, " let us begin the light way. Won't you shake hands?" and pulling off her glove as she spoke she held out her hand to me. There that's a good Cornish handshake, isn't it?" she asked a few seconds later. "It is not bad," I replied, trying to catch her humour. "Now, tell me your name." "Mary," she hard to remember, is it?" . " It is the most beautiful name in the world," I answered. " But Mary what ? ' At that I thought I saw the old look of hauteur and reserve in her eyes again, and I fel;; that there was something that she wanted to keep back from me. " It is utrange that we should meet here apain so close to Trescobell Ruins, isn t it?" I added inanely. " Why is it strange ? I felt like a walk this afternoon, and this old place having a kind o) attraction for me, I came here Seeing that you live here it is not strange that wo should meet, is it?' " Anyhow, it is splendid that we should meet," I replied, "and I am delighted that you took it in your head to come here. Has the old place any special attraction for you?" "Tell me, Mr. St.. Hilary, she Mid instead of answering my question, ' has your stay here been a success ? Have you had a happy time out here ? Has anything happened to you? Have you found ou if there is any truth in the stones that the'old place is haunted? Do tell me, I am eager to know." "Why are you so eager to know? " I expect it is because I am of a romantic turn of mind, just as you are. Hark. What's that?" , . " That's the buzzer of Wheal Agnes mine," I replied. "It is more than three miles from here, but,.when the wind is in that direction you can hear it plainly. It means that it is four o clock. i( " Four o'clock!" she repeated. 1 didn't realise that it was so late. I must go now. : ' • . " But you haven't told me who you are," I urged. " You haven't even told me your name." ' " I have told you that I am called Mary," and I thought there was something caressing in her tones. " But that isn't enough. You have not told me about yourself, and I am not iroing to let you get away so easily this time.. . I want to know everything about you." ; " Why should you want to know everything about me ?" and again her eyes fastened themselves on mine; while as it seemed i o me there was a subtle, charm about her. - "Can's you guess?' I replied. At any rate., lam determined to know. There is something I want to tell-you, too.". "What?" she asked. " My man, Zacky,- always prepares tea. for me at four o'clock, and you are going to join me." May I?" and there was eagerness in her voice. • r } \ J" V You not only may, but 1 •replied. "I simply insist on it." Mr. St. Hilary," and there was laughter in hen voice, " you are an awful bully." . . " Why, just because I insist on your coming to tea? That is easily explained. " Explain it then." " Because it will mean that we shall be together a little longer. It is a long time now since we met, and I am going to keep you with me as long as I can." "Mr. St. Hilary, are you trying to flirt with me?" and as she spoke her eyes met mine.

r And yet my meeting with the girl had !& curious effect upon me, and in a way I cannot explain, I knew that the future ©f her life would be somehow linked with my own. Then I found myself comparing the two girls. The one who had lived an open-air life in South Africa, and who had earned her living as a school teacher. The other, almost a replica of her as far as appearance went, and yet who was entirely different. For in spite of the likeness between, the two, the poles seemed to lie between them. The girl from whom I had just parted, in spite of the fact that she was refined and well educated, suggested a colonial. On the other hand, the girl, whose name I did not know was, I was sure, an aristocrat. Whether she was poor or rich T had not, the slightest idea, but there was something in her appearance as well as in her manner of speech, which told me of one who was associated with the rich and the high born. _ " Perhaps I shall never see her again," I reflected, and yet I felt sure that I should; and I found myself looking forward to our next meeting.

"Look 'ere, sur!' exclaimed Zacky, as just before one o'clock I arrived at the ruins. " Have you been back here during the morning?" " Back here during the morning ? Why do you ask ?" " Because somebody 've been in your room since you left after breakfast." "Somebody been in my room!" I repeated. " Yes," and there was asperity in his tones. "I be spaikin' plain, aren't I ? Ef you aint bin in your room since directly after breakfast, somebody else • f ave." " How do you know ?" I asked. " Because things have been moved. Every paper on your desk has been tumbled about, while your drawers have all been opened." "But weren't you in the house?" I asked.' " No, I found that we had run short of eggs, and so I went up to the farm to buy some. Somebody must 'ave been there while 1 was away. Come and look for yourself. I ain't touched nawthing since I cleared away the breakfast things." I hurried into the room which I had left just before ten o'clock, and found that everything was as •he described. My papers which I had left on the desk were in confusion, while the drawers had all been opened.. The lock, too, which belonged to a cupboard at, the lower part of my bookcase had been wrenched open; and the papers had been all scattered on the floor. " You dedin't do this, ded 'ee 1" asked Zacky. "I ? Certainly not," I replied. " Neither ded I, but tha's how I found it a few minutes agone." Of course I naturally tried to find an explanation of this, and was not long before I came to a conclusion. Whoever had been there had come to find the • parchment I had picked up in the level on the previous night, and I laughed aloud at the remembrance that just before leaving that morning I had' placed it in my pocket. Going to my bedroom I spread out the parchment carefully, and in the light of the sun which was shining in through the window I again examined it. Yes, I felt sure of the reason why the would-be thief had got into my room. This parchment was the thing desired. Especially -did the few nearly obliterated words which I saw more plainly now attract me. "Copy of plan of the old foundation and secret passages." And again, "it might be there." What was the " it" to which the words "referred ? My mind flashed to my interview with Mr. Childs, the village rector, and to the books he had lent me. Had the story which he had told me any connection with •my experiences ? Agiain I examined the parchment line by line, and I compared it with what I had seen on the previous night. I saw the level down which I passed, and noted those which branched from it. What was their significance ? Then something else struck me. The line which I took to denote the principal level ,Was far longer than any of the others. For that matter it reached to the very edge of the parchment, and seemed to have no end.

" This looks as though it were nearly a mile long," I reflected, " but if so, where does it end?"

At? that moment I heard Zacky knocking at the door and telling me that my meal was ready; so after carefully folding up' the parchment, and placing it in my pocket I followed him into the room where my simple meal had been prepared. But as may be imagined my lunch had little attraction for me. Who was the owner of the parchment, and who had ransacked my papers ? I determined that directly I had finished my meal I would go on another exploring tour, and again examine the secret passages. But 'I did not carry my determination into effect. Why it was I could not tell, but I felt I dared not do it.. The thought of going into the bowels of the earth where I had fought a grim battle with an almost unseen enemy was too repellent.

" Whv do .you ask 1" " Because I havb supreme contempt for flirts. Yes I mean it. When a man tries to captivate a woman-just for the sake of captivating her, and not because lie feels deeply himself it seems to- me positively contemptible." ' "I will answer you plainly," I replied. "I am twenty-nine years of age, and have never had a serious love affair in my life. Perhaps you dont believe me, but it is true. I have lived the life of a recluse, and all my knowledge of women I have gained from books and the drama. There, you have asked a direct question and I have given you a direct answer." Why I said this I hardly know, but the girl had a curious effect upon me. And yet I did not feel at ease with her. I felt all the time I had been talking with her that although she had been friendly with me, there had been a wall of reserve between us. What it was I could not tell, but it was very real to me even then. All the same, she had a strange influence over me, As I have said, she was very beautiful, and her eyes had a peculiar power—a nower which, while it captivated me, made me almost afraid of her. " Shall I tell you something, Mr. St. Hilary she asked. " I love to hear you talk," I replied. " I think," she said, and again her eyes fastened themselves on mine, " that I really like you." I suppose I ought to have felt flattered by her confession, but I wasn't; rather, although there was not the slightest leason for my being so, I was a little angered, Still, she had a strange charm with her, 'and'.my heart fluttered ridiculously, " I feel awfully .flattered," 1 managed to reply. , <l Flattered V * she queried. ** Is that all!"' ... " It doesn't' half-express what I mean, and yet I used the word for want of a better one." " Shall I tell you why I like you ?" she asked. "It would be awfully interesting to know." " Well, then, I will tell you. It is because I believe you are honest; because I believe- I can trust you absolutely." " Why should you want to trust me?" " Because I need someone whom I can trust because though I have hosts of acquaintances, I haven't a single friend. And I .need a friend badly."

" I am not going to try to work this afternoon, Zacky," I said directly I had finished my meal. "1 am going for a walk."

" Where be 'ee goin* then, makin' so bould ?" asked Zacky. " I don't know," I replied. " You will not be afraid to be left here alone, will you ?" " I .afeared ? Nobody ed'n going to hurt'me; all the same I doa'nt like it, maaster." " Don't like what ?" " Don't like your papers bein' tousled about, tid'n naat'ral." " I will stay in with you if you are afraid," I said, for I did not like the thought of the old man being in the ruins alone. "I afeared! Go away with 'ee." Reaching the top of the stone steps I Stood for a long time looking around me, and as I have said many times, a fairer Bight would be difficult to find. For that matter I had learnt to love this old place, and although it was a lonely ruin it had a homelike feeling to me; and in spite of my recent experiences 1 felt that nothing should drive me from it. And yet why should it attract me so ? Why should I, who had never heard of such a place as Trescobell until a few months before, feel that I must never leave it? A few minutes later I found myself scrambling over tumbled-down walls, arid thinking of the wonder of the old place before the devastating fire laid it low. I located the well which at one time must have supplied the water necessary for a large and outlined the huge dimensions of the place. ' Before. I realised what I was doing I .found myself climbing the hill at the back of the house, and making my way through the woodland which overshadowed it. ' I had .not gone far before I heard the sound of footsteps, and looking I saw that I was face to face with, the girl who looked like Mary Prynne, but who was not Mary Prynne.

CHAPTER IX. MART TKESCOBELL. " You see I have obeyed you," I greeted her. " In what have you obeyed me?" " You made me promise that I wouldn't try to find out who you were, what your ■name was, and why you were standing alone on the steps which lead to the rooms I now occupy. Well, I have kept my .promise. I have found it hard, but t have been true to my word."

A ROMANTIC MYSTERY. (COPYRIGHT.) By JOSEPH Tmw t> Legacy » .. Andrew Boconnoc's Will." etc.. etc.

There was a quality in her voice which I could not understand; there was something which suggested loneliness, if not helplessness.

" You promised to tell me about yourself," I urged, " and as yet you have told me nothing. Who are you ? Where do you come from ? And why do you haunt these old ruins ?"

She seemed on the point of answering me, then she laughed whimsically. " Mr. St. Hilary," she said, " you asked me to tea, and I am awfully hungry." " Forgive me," I cried, " but I was so interested in what you were saying that I forgot myself. You must excuse my rough menage. As I have told you, I live alone except for old Zacky Martin, | the village eccentric, who acts as my servant." Thereupon ' I led the_ way through the woods, and a few minutes later we stood at tie foot of the circular steps wlijch led to my rooms. "Wait! Wait!" she cried, when at length we had climbed them, and stood on the kind of platform where I had first seen her. Even if she had not spoken I think I should have stood still, and watched her, so fiercely did she look around her, and so intense was the expression in her eyes. " What do you see m all this ?" she asked at length. " The most beautiful place in the country," I replied "Is that all?" " I see the place which charmed me when I first saw it; the place in which I longed to live; the place which I hope never to leave." Her lips quivered as, 1 spoke, while her eyes filled with tears. " Oh, but don't you understand," she said huskily. " You never will be able to understand," and then with an impatient movement of her body as though she was throwing off an uncomfortable garment she went on; " Come, take me to your rooms, I am famishing for tea." I had no sooner led her into my livingroom than, Zacky entered. " You be laate, maaster," he said, looking at my visitor curiously. ? 'Am I, Zacky?" I asked. "Anyhow, I have brought you a visitor. if Will you bring another cup and saucer ?" I thought I saw anger in his eyes as he turned to obey me; he muttered fiercely, too, but what he said I could not tell. As for the girl, she looked around her like one fascinated; indeed, she seemed so interested in what she saw that her hunger appeared to have left her. " Oh, it must have been lovely when it was in its glory," I heard her sa y> but she seemed to be speaking to herself rather than to me. "Mr. St. Hilary, she went on presently, " doesn't it feel awfully strange to you to be here?" "In a %vay it does," I replied, " but not so strange as on the first night when I saw you. You remember, don't you ? You were standing on the top of those steps, while your hands were resting on the balustrade. Why did you come? What led you, a young girl, to do such a strange thing?" She did not speak for some seconds, and I felt as though she was debating with herself as to whether she should make a confidant of me. " Mr. St. Hilary," she asked presently, " has anything happened to you since you have been here ? Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary, anything which you cannot explain ?" " Yes," I replied, " and I am going to find out what it means." "What what means?" " What I have seen and heard. What I cannot understand." " Tell me," she demanded fiercely. "No," I .replied. "I don't think I will." " Why won't you tell me ?" " Because confidence should be mutual," was my response. "But if I will answer your questions, will you tell me then? Do say yes," and she caught hold of my arm as she spoke, and I felt her fingers quiver with excitement. " You must tell me, tell me everything," she persisted. "Why should 1 tell you?" I asked feeling all the time that I was acting like a clown. " What right have you to know ?" . " Because I have a right to know ? Tell me who you are, and why you haunt this place." Again she seemed to be debating with herself. I saw a look in her eyes which suggested fear, while the cup she held between her fingers trembled. " If I tell you," she replied, " will you promise me first that you will regard my confession as sacred ? Will you promise me never to breathe a word to anyone ?" " Of course I will hold what you tell me as sacred," I replied. '" And you will be my friend ?" She looked beseechingly into my eyes as she spoke. •" If you think I am worthy," I replied. " Then I will tell you. My name is Mary Trescobell. I am the only living descendant of the old Trescobell family, and I am the real owner of all that once belonged to the Trescobells. Now you understand, don't you ? It is all mine. These ruins are mine, the farms, the land, the village, they all belong to me; and yet I have to come here like a thief in the night. I have to creep by stealth into the house which for centuries was owned by my people." " Then why don't you put in your claim? Why don't you make known who you are?" I asked. " You know the story of my family, don't you ?" she replied.. " I know you do. Why, there are the books containing the history of the Trescobells. You have learnt all there is to be known, haven't .you ?" "I know what Mr. Childs, the rector, told me. He said that the proof of the marriage between Ralph Trescobell and Miss Mary Trevene had never been found, and until it could be found it would bo impossible to prove who was the real owner."

" Yes, I know," and she spoke eagerly. " But that proof exists. It is a strange story, and I will tell you about it. My great-great-grandfather was married in St. Ninian's Church, but he was afraid to tell his father, who was the recognised Lord Trescobell at that time. There was a feud between the familes of the Trescobells and the Trevenes; that was why he kept the marriage secret, and why ho was afraid someone would tamper with the church register; but the marriage took place." "Where is the proof of it?" I asked. " You know that a whole leaf was torn out of the church register, don't you ? Some say that Lord Trescobell's heir was so afraid of his father's anger that he went mad, and that that was why he tore out the leaf. It was not because the marriage did not take place that the record could not be found, but because he feared his father in his anger would destroy it; but it exists. There are other proofs, too, if I could only find them. I tell you, Mr. St. Hilary, the proofs of that "marriage are not far from us at this moment, and I am going to find them; and when I have found them I shall have my rights. Don't you believe me ?" " I believe you are sincere in what you have said," I replied. " As far as I can see there are two things which you will have to establish before any judge or jury will listen to you, eveu if the lapse of so many years has not made everything impossible." " What are they ?" she asked quickly. " First of all," I replied, " you will have to prove that the marriage between Lord Hugh Trescobell's son and Miss Trevene actually took place." " But assuming that proof can be found what then ?" I shook my head doubtfully. " Even if it is," I went on, " there is something which is just as important as far as you are concerned." "What is that?" " You will have to prove that you are the true claimant; you will have to prove that you are the only living Trescobell, and that you are the true heir to the Trescobell Estates." " And if I can prove those two things?" she asked.

•' I am not. a lawyer," I replied, " but if those two things can be proved, actually proved by documentary evidence, it seems to me you would have a case." " Listen!" she said eagerly, and drew her chair a little nearer to mine. We will assume that the marriage did take place, and that shortly after Ralph left England taking his wife with him."^ "And was never seen again?" I interrupted. " No, he was never seen in England again. Now then, follow me closely. In 1825 old Lord Hugh Trecobell died, and his grandson, that is Ralph's only son, came back and took possession. He brought proofs with him that he was Ralph's son, and the proof that his father and mother were dead. He was able to show his birth certificate," she added, "containing all particulars of where he was born; and I have a copy of that certificate." " Yes, but he had no papers showing that his father was married to his mother," I again interrupted. " That, as I understand, is where the whole difficulty lies." " Oh, do listen," she cried impatiently " As I said, in 1825 old Lord Hugh Trescobell died, and his grandson_ came back and took possession. When, it was asserted that he had no proofs of his father's marriage he told the family lawyer that his father had torn the page from the church register containing his marriage, and put it in a secret hidingplace among the foundations of Trescobell Hall." " I know there is an old story to that effect," I interposed, " but it was never found. That was why, when he took possession and gave a feast to celebrate his assumption of the property, that a cousin appeared declaring he had no right to be there." " Yes, I know all about that," she replied. " I know too that this cousin was the only other living Trescobell, and that he threatened Ralph's son, who was also called Ralph, that he would fight for his rights." I suppose there was a look of liicreaulity on my face, for the light of anger shone in her eyes as she went on with her story. . ' "The account given of what took place on the night of the fire is, as far as I can judge, authentic. Angry words led to blows, and there was a fight to the death between the two Trescobells. That fight resulted in Richard Trescobell being killed, while Ralph, believing he was in danger of being hanged for the murder of the other, fled to France. On that night also the great fire took place which destroyed a large part of the house. Ralph never returned to England, btit in 1830 he married a French lady, a Countess Flaubert, by whom he had one son, and whom he called Louis."

" Is there any proof of that?" I asked. " I have not only a copy of the certificate of marriage, but that of his son's birth and baptism," was her somewhat proud reply. " All the particulars are given in detail, and one of the best lawyers in London told me that it would stand the test of any law court in the civilised world. He also said that in spite of the lapse of years, the circumstances were such that if proof of Ralph's marriage were found I had a good case." Things seemed on a firmer ground now, and I listened with more respect. Of course there was no documentary evidence that old Lord Hugh's son was married, but if she spoke the truth, and I had no reason to doubt her word, the other marriages were rightfully attested. "In 1852," she went on, " this son was also married, but before he married lie tried to establish his claim as the heir to the Trescobell Etsates." "And was unsuccessful ?" I again interrupted. " Yes, be was unsuccessful, but he had so convinced the father of the lady he wanted to marry that -that gentleman gave his consent." " What was he called ?" I asked.

" He was one of the Cornish Tremaynes, and they were married in the old Tremanyne Parish Church. There is no doubt about it, for I have not only examined the church agister, but as you know, new marriage laws have been passed, and the records at Somerset House attested to it."

" Well, go on," I said quietly. " Louis Trescobell and Mary Tremayne had two sons. The first was called Hugh after the old lord, and the second was called Louis. Hugh was born in 1854, while Louis was born in 1856." " And what became of these two sons ?" I asked. She hesitated a few seconds before answering my question, then she went on: " John Tremayne, although belonging to one of the oldest families in the county, was a poor man,'and could do nothing for his son-in-law; so Louis Trescobell took his wife to California where he hoped to make a fortune in the goldfield. He did not make a fortune, but after twenty years he came back to Tremayne and settled down on his father-in-law's farm. Both he" and his wife died there," she added.

" And what became of the two sons?" I persisted. " Hugh, the elder, died. I suppose he was a wild harum-scarum fellow and became a wanderer on the face of the earth As for the other, Louis Trescobell, he was my father. He died just before last Christmas."

"Where did he die ?" I asked. "At Tremayne. My mother died years before." " Who was she ?"

: " She was a Miss Pendragon. My father had come homo with my grandfather from California, and settled with him on the farm; and when my grandfather died my father took on the farm. Before he died he told me everything I have told you." " And you have no brothers or sisters ?" I asked. " No," she replied. " I am alone in the world, and since my father's death I have lived on the rent which has come to me from Tremayne Farm. It is not a large amount, as you may imagine, but it is enough for me to live on; and has been enough to euable me to find out the truth of what I have told you. I thought little about it during my father's lifetime, but when just before ho died he told me the history of my family, and made me feel that I was the only living Trescobell, it became a sort of passion with me to establish my rights. Do you wonder at it? Now perhaps you understand why I love this old place so, and why I continuo to haunt it. Why, and she started to her feet, "I can people these old ruins with my dead ancestors, and I shall never rest until I can claim my rights." . " May I ask you a question, Miss Trescobell ?" I said after a long silence. " Ask me anything you like," was her reply. " Mind, I have not been telling you uncertainties. I have proof of everything; marriage certificates, birth _ certificates, baptism certificates, everything." " Still 1 would like to ask you a question," I persisted, " and it seems to me an important one." "What is it?" and she looked at me eagerly. (To be continued on Saturday next.)