DEAD AT THE LOOM; OR. THE TRAGEDY AT MILLSOM’S MILL.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 17, Issue 56, 17 July 1903, Page 7

DEAD AT THE LOOM; OR. THE TRAGEDY AT MILLSOM’S MILL.

A YORKSHIRE STORY OF 1830. CHAPTER XVILTHE MAD GENERAL’S WILL.HAXTON AT MILLSOM’S MILL. Liz Fernie, of course, got a terrible shock when she found her master sitting by the window dead. She gave a loud scream, and ran to the kitchen, hiding her face in her apron as if to shot out the sight. Frightened and trembling, she sank upon the floor, and lay there for. a little unable to move. In a minute or two she recovered from this frightened, half-fainting condition, and asked herself what was to be done. “ Maybe he’s only in a fit or a faint. 1 or something,” she said to herself. “ I’d better call some of the neighbours, and send them for the doctor. Without waiting to take oft her apron or put on her hat, she ran out, but in the doorway an idea occurred to her, and she paused. The General’s treasure-the black box—was at her command. She might take out what she liked 1 It was the temptation of Satan, and Liz listened to it and yielded, or seemed to yield. At least she came back into the kitchen and stood irresolute. “ It wouldn’t be stealing," she told herself. If the master’s dead the money doesn’t belong to him, It doesn’t belong to anyone now.” Then she remembered that Tom Ashton was the heir. If she took any of the money Tom might find it out. But what a splendid chance this was of helping John Hargreaves! What a pity not to take advantage of it! The money was there within her reach. She had only to open the box and put in her hand, and take as much as she wanted. Uncertain what to do, half-inclined to yield to the temptation, half inclined to resist-it, Liz moved into the passage. How still the house was. There, on her left, was the bedroom door, open as she had left it; a little further on, to the right, was the sitting-room door, also open. To gain the latter she had to pass by the former, and that was a trial of her nerves. Shutting her eyes tight, shutting her lips as if to keep down the fierce beating of her heart, and turning her head resolutely away from the bedroom door, she made a dash along the passage, and stood within the sitting room. There was the black box in the cupboard. its shining metal and gold ornamentation seeming positively to invite her to open it, and take what she wanted. Liz went forward to the cupboard and sank on her knees before the box; she put her finger on the first letter which had to be pressed in ere the box was opened, Should she; or should she not ? Liz Fernie was a good girl. She had been brought up to fear and hate evildoing, and, as a matter of fact, she did hate it. But Liz was in love—madly, desperately in love —and the man she loved was compelled to leave the country for want of a hundred pounds or so. A little of the money in that box would save her lover, would keep him at home, and, best of all. would bind him more closely to herself. For Liz never felt very sure of John Hargreaves. True, he had kissed her and caressed her, and ipoken kindly to her, but his manner, the felt, was hardly that of a lover. He was scarcely enough in love with her yet: when shehadprpved her devotion to him in this way—by supplying him with the money he so urgently needed —would he not be bound to her for ever. Then Liz thought again of Tom Ashton, Torn would come to the cottage and perhaps bring a lawyer with him. Ho and the lawyer would count the money; they would find a note of the exact amount among the old man’s papers; they would know at once that some of ithad been taken away, andthey would instantly charge her with the theft. Liz remembered what she had sullered on the last occasion she had been tempted to take some money from Jibe box; how anxious she had been till she got it put back again, and, thinking of that, she rose from her knees. Her glance fell on the papers lying on the table. She would read the letter the old man had written to his nephew! perhaps it would tell her something of Importance. The General wrote a very .big hand, and the letter, though it was not long, covered several sheets of notepaper. “ Dear Nephew Tom,” the General had written. “ Why the mischief don’t you come oftener to see me ? Don’t you know you’re to get all my money when I knock oft. But you’re not a moneygrubbing fortune-hunter, Tom. If you had been you wouldn’t have got a penny —eh P You stuck to your honest work, when others, like that rascal Haxton—the man I put the bullet into—went ofl to occupations they thought more genteel. Genteel! Faugh ! And you’re an honest, upright, unselfish fellow, Tom— I’m not flattering you—don’t think it. I know all about you, and what I say is the simple truth. I’m proud to be your uncle, Tom.” “ But, my dear fellow, I’m afraid I won’t enjoy that privilege very long. Fact is, I’ve had one or two bad turns of my old complaint lately. Heart wrong, • you know—deuced Indian climate, worse than the place below—and, in short, Tom, I may knock oft at any moment. And so, Tom, I’ve made my will, leaving you my money. It will save trouble after I knock oft. And here is the will inside this letter. So, good-bye for the present, Tom, my boy. Come out soon and see me, and bring that pretty girl with you. I’d like to live long enough to see you married—you lucky dog. Goodbye, again. God bless you and her.— Your old Uncle, Bob.” “ What a nice letter,” exclaimed Liz, when she had finished the reading of it, “ That’s Maggie Moorcroft, he means, of course; she and Tom Ashton are engaged.” Liz next read the Mad General’s will, , It was very short and simple : “ I, Robert Ashton, of Hawthorn Cottage, Acomb, Yorkshire, late quartermaster of the 120th Regiment, do hereby bequeath all my belongings to my nephew. Tom Ashton, mail guard, with

the exception of £5 to be paid immediately on my death to my maid-servant, Liz Fernie. —Robert Ashton.” Five pounds! So that was all Liz would ever get of the glittering heaps of precious yellow gold within that black box. Five pounds! Why, that would not help Jack Hargreaves much. That would not keep him at home. Once more Liz drew near to the black box, that lured her on with its wizardly power, attracting her as the magnet attracts the needle. She knelt before the treasure-house of gold, “ yellow, glittering gold.” which will make black appear white, “ foul fair, wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.” With fingers that trembled with excitement and anticipation, she was about, to open the box. when a new idea occurred to her, and she paused. Yes—yes. that would be better and safer—much safer. Bade she went to the table again and took up the Mad General’s will. Yes, it it could be done, easily, quite easily, and no one would ever know. The General, as has been said, wrote a large hand, putting only four or five words in each line. In one line were the words. “ exception of five.” the word “ pounds ” being written on the next line. Beween the “ fivo ” and the margin of the paper there was plenty of room for Liz to write the word hundred.” At, school Liz had got a prize for “ Writing, Arithmetic, and General Gooa Conduct during the Year.” The General’s hand was large and plain and easy to imitate. Liz took a piece of paper and wrote the word “ hundred ” several times in the General’s manner, noting carefully how he made the initial “ h ” in “ hereby ” and the final “ d ” in mailguard,” and “ paid.” Then when she thought she could do it well enough, she took the will and boldly wrote the “ hundred ” in the right place. This done, she held the paper in the sun to dry, upon which the writing looked exactly like the General’s. This, of course, was fraud and theft, but, strangely enough, Liz did not shrink from it as she did from the more direct act of opening the box and taking out a handful of sovereigns. Such a state of mind is not uncommon. Thus Liz Fernie because she had not actually stolen the five hundred pounds, did not feel that she had done anything so very wrong. “ My, but that’s a splendid idea,” she told hei self, surveying her handiwork with pride. “ Five hundred pounds to be paid immediately on my death to my maidservant Liz Fernie." Perhaps I'll get the money to-day. I’ll get it as soon as Tom Ashton comes at anyrate.” The General, in putting in the words ** to be paid immediately on my death,” had had in his mind the law’s delay,and wished the girl to get her money at once ; perhaps he had thought that Tom would pay it ofthand out of his own pocket. Liz, in her ignorance, supposed that five hundred pounds could be paid as easily and promptly as five. Wasn’t the money lying there all ready to be used ? So she comforted herself with the thought that to-morrow at latest she would be able to.pnt the money in Jack Hargreaves’ hands. What should she do now with the letter and the will ? Leave them lying there ? No, that would mean delay, and the precious will might be lost or destroyed. She would send the documents to Tom Ashton. She therefore tied them up in paper-gnaximed envelopes were not then in use—and addressed the packet in a good imitation of the General’s writing to ” Mr. Tom Ashton, Acomb,” and pot it in her pocket. She would find a messenger who would take it at once. And now she would go out and give the alarm. Bbe would send for the doctor ; she would let everybody know that she had just at that moment, to her great alarm and consternation, found her master sitting in his chair apparently dead. As the reader will remember. Frank Haxton appeared at Millsom’s Mill that morning. He had come from Leeds the evening before, had stayed at the Black Bull all night, and had walked over to Millsom’s Mill in the morning loitering about until he saw his uncle come out of the house and go down the road to Acomb, he went softly into the weavingshop, where sat John Hargreaves hard at work, and gave his friend a slap on the shoulder. Instantly Hargreaves started up, and the click of the shuttle and whirr of the loom suddenly ceased. “ Good heavens, man! What a face! cried Haxton. “Are you always as white as that, Jack, or did I frighten you ? ” “ Partly, you did,” said Hargreaves, sitting down again, with his back to the loom and his face to his friend. “ Egad, Frank, a man in my position gets a fright when a hand is suddenly laid on his shoulder. Bnt, apart from that, you could not expect to see me looking very jolly, could you ? ” “ Hardly,” said Haxton. “ I’m not feeling particularly jolly, myself, either. But we parted bad friends last time, Jack. Let’s shake hands and agree. We’ve been pretty true to each other all along—haven’t we ? And we mustn’t quarrel now when everything is so dark —must we, Jack ? ” So these two sharers of a common danger shook hands. They really liked each other and had been true to each other, and that is the best thing—indeed, almost the only good thing—that can be said of Haxton and Hargreaves with regard to their life at this time. “ Well, what’s to be done, now ? ” asked Hargreaves. “ We’re quite safe, here,the governor’s gone to Acomb to see the carts ofl to Leeds.” •• Ah—and Ashton has got the selling of the stuft 1 ” exclaimed Haxton, bitterly. “ I might have been doing it, Jack, and making money out of the transaction. Done? Nothing is to be done. It Is well known in Leeds that I’m no longer agent for the weavers here, and the bank would certainly not look at another bill; so we must cut and run before the 30th," Harorppav«B nndd«A

“Just what I expected,” he said. “Well. I’m ready to go. The only person I’ll be sorry to leave is Liz Ferme, poor girl.” , ~ Haxton flashed, for the mention of her name recalled the Mad General and his treasure box. And Frank remembered with shame and humiliation their foolish and unsuccessful attempt to break into the old man’s cottage. “ Well, Jack.” he said, “ you needn’t go with me. The forgeries are yours, certainly, but there is nothing on the bills to show that, and you may never be suspected. Why not stay at home and marry your Liz Fernia ? I will never split on you, you know.” , “ Too great a risk,” said Hargreaves, shaking his head* You don’t know what might be discovered—about our doings in Leeds, I mean, and the blackguardly Ted Jones and his Pretty Polly Steevens, and the loss of the money, and all the rests. And as I was with you in all that, I might be blamed for the bills, too. No, I’ll go with yon, Frankthere’s my hand on’t.” “ All right; we’d better go soon; tomorrow or the next day. Mind, it won't be a pleasant experience, Jack. Well have to tramp it and sleep in queer places at night and go without food occasionally. I think we’d better make ouir way to London in the first place, and lose ourselves in the crowd there, where

they’ll never think of looking fcr ua.” By George,” he continued, think of the commotion there’ll be when the whole thing comes out. The bank wil find out that they have £270 worth ol forced hills ; Mr. Millsom will have nothing to say to them—never saw them Indore. Then the bank people inform the law authorises, and search is made for me and you ; but by that time we’re in good old London town, where they will look for us in vain. How do you like it, Jack-eh?” “ Confoundedly ill,l must say,Frank,” returned Hargreaves, who felt much depressed. He had been drinking a good deal of late, and was out of sorts. “ It’s an unpleasant prospect,- and it means the ruin of us, you know.” “ Oh, yes, it’s bad enough,” admitted Haxton ; “ but cheer up. By George, man, I’ve seen you in a more cheerful mood on former occasions when things were going ill with us.” “ Yw ; but we were never at this pass bcforOi^ “ True, still there must be a better time in store for us. Hang it. man, the longest lane must have a turn in it at last; when the tide is. at its lowest ebb it begins to flow ; dawns come just after the blackest hour of darkness. Just think of all the misfortunes we’ve had. and get the idea fixed in your head that we’re bound to succeed at last.” “ I’ll try,” said Hargreaves, “ but it’s confoundedly difficult to believe anything of the kind. Ah, here’s your uncle." and before Hargreaves coma turn to the loom and begin weaving again. Mr. Millsom entered. The good man was in a very cheerful mood that morning, and’ he received his nephew pleasantly enough. “ Turned up again, Frank, like the bad penny,” he cried, “not made your fortune yet either, ha, ha ! ” Haxton flushed and looked annoyed, but tried to laugh. “ No, uncle,” he cried, “ bad luck again.” , ~ “ Av, ay," commented Mr. Millsom, drily, that’s what lads like you are always saying. Luck ! Good luck, bad luck; Suppose you said “ work ” instead. Good work, bad work. Or conduct. Good conduct, bad conduct. Luck is one of those gambler’s words, always on, the tongues of folk who trust to chance rather than to industry and well-dping. 4 Forget it, Frank, if you would do well. Trust no more to luck.

“ By-the-way, I believe I have to congratulate you, uncle,” said Haxton, changing the subject, for that reference to gambling hit him hard, “ I’m sure I hope you’ll be very happy.” “ That’s my marriage you’re referring to,” said Mr. Millsom, brightly/* Thank you, lad. Oh, I don’t see why we should not be happy, Why, Frank, man,” he added, “ we thought you were to get the second daughter not long ago, but some things have happened ” “ Oh,” said Frank, “ Ashton is welcome to her, for me.” “ He’s to get her anyway, whether with your goodwill or not. And Tom will be very well ofl by and by. I suppose you’ve heard that queer old man that lives at Hawthorn Cottage—the Mad General they call him—turns out to be his uncle, and Tom’s the heir.” “ But perhaps he won’t get much.” “ Won’t he ? The General has a great lot of money.” “ Invested inlndia.and not realisable, doubtless.” said Frank, “ No, no,” said Mr. Millsom. directing at his nephew a keen look, under which Haxton lowered his eyes and grew confused. “ It’s in the house, in a big box —good golden sovereigns.” “ X wonder you can believe such nonsense, uncle.” “ It’s not nonsense, as you know very well,” said Mr. Millsom, and then Haxton and Hargreaves—who was listening as intently as his weaving operations would allow—knew that Tom Ashton had told Mr. Millsom something about their attempted burglary at the Mad Generali After that, Haxton rose and said he must be going, and his uncle did not press him to stay. Down the road towards Acomb Haxton wandered, looking at the beautiful landscape,and reflecting that he might never see it again. What a wreck ho had made of his life, at the very outset, too; before he had got a fair chance as he told himself 1 With a little experience he might have avoided the dan gets that had upset him and spoiled his coarse. But, alas, experience has to be painfully acquired, and sometimes we do not get it until it is too late to be of any use.

“ Deuced hard lines,” he said to himself with a sigh, and he thought of Tom Ashton, who was so fortunate. “Luck! ” he cried, “ of course.there’ssuch a thing as luck! it’s all luck with Ashton, luck from beginning to end.” But this was a mistake. It had been hard work and good conduct that had helped Tom Ashton on. Haxton strolled on towards Hawthorn Cottage. And just as he approached it, Liz Fernie came running excitedly towards the village. Haxton paused, wondering what was the matter. Liz recognised Haxton some way ofl, and at once told herself that here was the very person to help her to get the letter speedily delivered to Tom Ashton. It’s my master,” she cried. “ He’s dead—very sudden.” ‘ “ What! Killed himself! Committed suicide do you mean ? ” asked Haxton, in surprise. “ No—l don’t think so— don’t know—but see here, Mr. Haxton, here’s a letter addressed to his nephew, Tom Ashton, and it’s of great importance that Tom should get it at once.” . “ This is in your master’s writing,” he said. “ Yes, of course,” said Liz readily. “ Will you take it to Acomb ? You are a friend of his-of Jack Hargreaves, 1 mean: so take the letter, and take it quick. There’s good news in it for him and me.” , . • “ He has much need of good pews just now.” said Haxton ’* Well, you may trust me with the letter, Liz. I’ll take it to Tom Ashton with all speed. Egad,” he said, looking keenly at her. I shouldn’t wonder but you’ve brought us luck at last.” Liz hastened away, glad that she had got the letter and the important document it contained despatched to Tom Ashton. As for Haxton, he set ofl at once on his journey to Acomb. “Egad, something turned up just at the eleventh hour!" he chuckled. “ I wonder what it is, but I’ll soon see. The letter isn’t sealed, and I’ll know its contents within a minute or two. By Jove, perhaps we’ll get out of the wood after all!” When he reached a quiet part of the road, Haxton sat down under a tree, opened the letter, and read the will. “ Five hundred pounds!” he gasped. “ Splendid! To be paid immediately! Magnificent! Hurray! Liz Fernie, you’re a brick!” ....... . He read the letter, which told about the General’s ill-health and about the old man’s affection for his nephew. “ Imphm!” commented Haxton, • “ Not a money-grubbing fortunehunter.” Oh, no —he’s getting a fortune, though—there must be a lot when the old boy leaves so much to his maidservant. Eh P What this ? “ Stick to your honest work, when others, like that rascal Haxton-the man I put a bullet into—went ofl to occupations they thought more genteel!" That rascal Haxton! The man he put the bullet

into! So that’s how they speak about me! And this is the letter 1 have to deliver ?” «|ln his rage Haxton would have torn pth letter and will to pieces, but he immediately reflected that that would be a foolish thing to do. Liz would not 1 get her legacy then, and he and Har- : greaves wold lose their last chance. { “ No,” he said, “ I must put my pride | in roy pocket. I’ll seal the letter though. I’ll not deliver a letter like that ouen. | Why didn’t the General seal it ? or Liz ? Egad, I wonder what game that hussey j is playing! Her master could not have j written the address at any rate, for the ; ink was scarcely dry when she gave me ! the letter. And if she imitated the old I man’s hand in the address, perhapsl | more of this is her handiwork. Let m«| see ” and he again unfolded the letter! and its enclosure, and looked at them! carefully. But he saw nothing suspicious! about them. There was nothing to' draw attention to tho important word' Liz had added to the will. “ All right, apparently,” he said.; “ Now,shall I go direct to Acomb or first run up and tell Jack about this bit of; good fortune ? Hang it, I hardly care to face my uncle again after that broad hint he dropped, No. I’ll go on now, and come back and see Jack in the evening. Perhaps Liz will communicate; with him before then ; and it would be; better that she should tell him herself. * Good news for Jack,’ she said, and so it is, for Jack will get every penny of the money from her. And, egad, it’s very good news for me, too. No need for us to cut and run now I A fresh start in life —another chance! No more gambling, nor smuggling, nor forgery.” And so, his mind busied with such thoughts, Haxton journeyed a little further on and .went into an inn, and ordering something to drink, borrowed a piece of sealing-wax and sealed the letter. Then he hastened on to ths market town, where he learned that Tom Ashton would be back with the coach in the evening. Haxton employed his time of waiting in looking up some old acquaintances and borrowing money from them, for he was very badly oft in that respect at present. Of course, he did not make any such confession to his friends, According to his own story, his shortness of cash was merely accidental and temporary; he had plenty in Leeds, hut there was no means of getting it unless he went for it himself, and that would be very inconvenient. His friends, who still believed in his prosperity, willingly lent him as muoh as he needed, and, indeed, so gracious was his manner, counted it an honour to be allowed to thus supply his wants. Till/ last bit of his programme turned out to be unnecessary, however, for iust as the coach approached, and while Haxton was standing in front of the inn waiting for it, Hargreaves himself came op and slapped him on the shoulder. “ It’s all right, old mau I ” he cried. “ We’re saved! Liz has got a legacy — five hundred pounds—to be paid immediately. Every penny of it she’ll hand over to me ! ” “ I know,” Haxton began, but his words were drowned in the loud blast of Tom Ashton’s horn as the Yorkshire Flier rattled np to the inn door.

CHAPTER XVIII. TOM ASHTON’S FORTUNE.-OPEN-ING THE MiD GENERAL’S TREASURE-BOX, Tom Ashton was naturally much shocked to hear of his uncle’s death. Sixteen days had now elapsed since that Sunday afternoon he and Maggie had called on the old man, and he had not seen his uncle since. It was not a long time—only a fortnight and two days—still Tom felt inclined to blame himself for not having gone back. “ Poor old man I” he said. “ And he told me he might die suddenly. Yes, I might have been more attentive to him,” But considering that it was little more than six weeks since the Mad General had revealed himself to Tom as the latter’s uncle, it will be seen that he had little to reproach himself with. Uncle Bob might have enjoyed his nephew’s affection for years if he had liked. It was Frank Haxton who first gave him the news. Haxton as the reader will understand, did not care about lacing Tom now that he knew he had been recognised as one of the would-be burglars on that unlucky evening. But there was much at stake. It was of the greatest importance that the Mad General’s will should safely reach Tom’s hands, and Haxton, putting on a bold front, went forward to Tom when the coach drew up, and took him by the arm. “ How d’ye do, Tom ? ” he said, in tones of easy confidence, “ Haven’t seen you for some time —eh P ” h, No," said Tom, regarding him with little favour. “ You and I don’t meet often, Mr, Haxton.” Thus repulsed, Haxton delivered his message, handed over the letter, and took himself off as quickly as possible. “ He seems to be a good deal cut up,’’ Haxton remarked to himself, recalling the look of pain that had come into Tom’s face on hearing the sad news. “ Why, I wonder ? The old man was nothing to him, and he’ll get all the cash, lucky beggar that he is I But he won’t get it all, though. No ; Jack Hargreaves and I will finger some of it—unless Liz changes her mind.”

“ Any fear ol that—eh ? Any tear of Liz cooling in her ardour for you ? " he asked Hargreaves, who was in waiting for him round the comer. “ Oh, no—keep your mind easy on that score,’’replied the object of poor Liz’s infatuation. “It’s what foolish people call love, you know, and that’s a pretty enduring thing.” “ Good—now we’ll go' and make a night of it over this unexpected stroke of good fortune. I’ve plenty of money —come.” So they went and made a night of it, not at the Black Ball, however; apart from the fact that Mrs. Moorcroft would not have allowed such excessive drinking on her pr.-n ees, they did not care to carry on a noisy carousal there. They went to a place of much lower repute, and ate and drank and enjoyed themselves hugely, if such wretched gratification can properly be called enjoyment. With moist eyes Maggie and Tom read over the General’s letter. At the will Tom hardly glanced, but Mrs. Moorcroft fastened upon it at (me©. “ Ay—ay—poor old man! " she said. »• All flesh is grass ; we do fade like a leaf. And* he’s made out his will-good, j rodent, careful man 1 You must take (re it care of this paper, Tom—it means money. Let me see," and the good lady put on her spectacles, which had lately become necessary to her. “ ‘ —• Hereby bequeath all my belongings to my nephew,Tom Ashton,mail guard.’ That’s right—quite right I * All my belong

hags,’ Toml My, you’ll bo rich! But what’s this ? Just listen to this. “ With the exception of live hundred pounds to be paid immediately on my death to my maid servant, Liz Fernie ! ’ Five hundred pounds! The man must have been mad!” “ She was very attentive to him, I believe,” said Tom, “ and he had a great regard for her. And, of course, he had a perfect right to leave her as much as he liked,” “ But £SOO ? ” protested Mrs. Moorcroft ; “ it’s ridiculous. If it had been five, or even twenty ; but five hundred!” Five hundred it was, however, plainly enough, and there was nothing more to be said. (to bb ooNTiNtnro.)