CHAPTER VII A NINE DAYS' WONDER

Petronella made the terrible announcement with ominous calmness. Then, when she saw Stephen staring at her open-mouthed, her wild southern nature could no longer be controlled. With a choking sob, she flung her apron over her head, and began to lament loudly for her dear padrona. Her voice ascended shrilling in a long wail, like that of the Corsican vocieri. Luckily there were few people in the street, and the sound was scarcely noticed; it was simply thought that the excitable Italian woman was in one of her tantrums. And Beorminster was used to Petronella's fits of rage. Stephen caught her suddenly and dragging her inside by main force closed the door.

Before Petronella could recover her breath for another howl, she found herself on one of the dining-room chairs with Marsh standing over her. The young man was so shaken that he could hardly speak. The prophecy of Sidney, the hurried journey to Beorminster on a grocer's cart which he had met near Saxham, and now the terrible confirmation of the death; these things shook him to the soul. He hardly recognised his own voice. "Tell me everything that happened," he said slowly, "do not make any mistake. I must know all."

Petronella crossed herself. "Holy Virgin," she muttered, "his eyes are like coals." Then after a muffled wail, she burst out into rapid Italian which Stephen understood easily from his habit of talking to her and to Mrs. Marsh.

"After you left at mid-day Signor Stephano, the padrona tried to get a little sleep. When the postman came at two o'clock, he brought one letter for her. I took it up, and woke her. Then I went out of the room. In a quarter of an hour the Signora called me. She looked white, so white. The letter was before her. She told me to give her the chloral as she wanted to sleep. I asked her if she had bad news in the letter. She said no, but that she felt suddenly sick. I gave her the medicine in the little bottle, and went away. She took some I think, for when I went up again an hour later she was asleep. I went again and again--she was still asleep. Then I took up her tea, and wanted to waken her. Gran' Dio--she was dead--dead!"

"What time was that Petronella?"

"At half past five Signor, the hour when I always take up the Signora's tea. Oh, she is dead and I nursed her. Cursed be it that I live still."

While the old woman wailed on, Stephen shuddered. The hour was that which Sidney had named. "Are you sure she died at that time?" he asked.

"Quite sure Signor Stephano. When I went in before she was only asleep; I saw her breathing. I was up at a quarter past five and she still breathed, and had a colour in her poor cheek. When I set down the tray I turned to see that she was quite still, her face pale as snow. I put my hand to her heart. She was dead. Ah Dio mio, she must have passed away when I entered the room. I heard a sigh at the door," said Petronella beginning to embellish. "It was her spirit that passed. What could I do but open the window to let the soul go free? Ah Holy Virgin!" and the old woman crossed herself again.

By this time Stephen had somewhat recovered his composure. Without a word he went up to the room. Petronella had drawn a sheet over the dead. He drew it down gently, and saw the waxen face beneath. Every wrinkle had been smoothed away, and there rested a peaceful expression on that once stormy countenance. As Marsh stood tearlessly looking at the dead, he heard a light step enter the room. Herrick appeared, almost as pale as the dead woman. After a glance at the corpse, he recognised that all was over, and looked at Marsh with a shudder.

"Yes!" whispered the young man replying to the unspoken thought, "at half past five o'clock!"

Herrick shuddered again and drew the sheet over the dead face. Then he took Stephen by the arm and led him downstairs into the study. There he left him in a chair and went into the dining-room, whence he returned with a decanter and two glasses. Pouring out two stiff glasses of brandy he forced Stephen to drink one, and took the other himself. Both were in need of the stimulant, for the event had shaken them considerably.

By and bye Marsh laid down his head on the table and wept quietly. He had been devoted to the dead woman and was all unstrung. Moreover the uncanny way in which the first announcement of the death had been made, shocked him deeply. Herrick went out to see Petronella. He found her in the death chamber. A genuine Romanist, she had placed candles round the bed, and a crucifix on the breast of the dead, On her knees she was praying aloud. Seeing that all had been done that could be done, Herrick returned to the study. Stephen was calmer, and inclined to talk.

"It was half past five as Sidney said," he said in a low voice. "Oh, Herrick what does it mean?"

"I do not know," said the usually sceptically doctor, "After you had gone, I asked the boy how he knew. He said that while asleep he had dreamed--so he put it--that he was standing in your mother's bedroom. She was dying in a stupor, and he saw the breath gradually leave her body. He also said that he saw her spirit after she was dead. But of course that must be nonsense."

"After what he said I can believe anything" said Marsh, "what else?"

"Well," said Jim uncomfortably, "he described the bedroom exactly. Was he ever in it Stephen?"

"No; certainly not. And he described it?"

"Exactly; and as being in the state in which it now is. He said that Petronella came in at the door with a tray and placed it beside the bed. She then put her hand on your mother's heart and found that she was dead. Afterwards she opened the window. Why--what--Stephen?"

"My God!" cried the young man now ghastly white. "That is exactly what Petronella told me she did. Oh, oh!" and he fainted. Herrick scarcely wondered at it; he felt deadly sick himself and it needed another glass of brandy before he could recover himself sufficiently to attend to the unconscious man.

Next day the news was known all over Beorminster; and Sidney's prophecy also. The Endicotte family would fain have kept it to themselves; but Sidney himself had spread the news. For on the way home and before the rumour could have reached Saxham,--which it did not until late that night--he told several people of Mrs. Marsh's death and the hour at which it had occurred. So the report spread, and that night Saxham, accustomed to Sidney's second sight, was in a ferment. Many believed, others doubted, and the upshot was that a few enquirers went over to Beorminster whence they rushed back with a confirmation of the news. Mrs. Marsh was dead, and moreover she had passed away at half past five. Up till a late hour that night nothing was talked about but this wonderful boy, and next morning a crowd collected about "The Grange" hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Ida was very angry at Sidney's indiscretion and told him so. He took it all placidly. "Why should I not say that Mrs. Marsh was dead?" he asked. "She _is_ dead; and she died at the time I said."

"But how did you know, Sidney dear?" asked the perplexed sister. "When I was on the sofa in the library I dreamed that I was in her room, I saw her die, and the white spirit get out of her body. The spirit pointed to a bottle on the table beside the bed, and then I forgot all till I woke on the sofa and saw Stephen looking at me. Then I told him to go home. There is nothing strange about it Ida. You know I can see things."

Ida shuddered and ran away to tell Bess that Sidney was a most uncomfortable person to talk to. The boy stayed indoors at the request of Bess all the morning, and then slipped off in the afternoon to go to his favourite haunt in the pine wood. When he came into the village the next day, he refused to talk of his dream or vision or whatever it might be called, and seemed quite cross when it was referred to. From that day Sidney was shunned as though he had the plague. Everyone was afraid of being told too much about themselves or their relations. This troubled the boy very little. He went on living in his usual dreamy way, and had no more visions for a time. Even at Biffstead he was regarded as something dangerous. But there by tacit consent the subject was dropped.

What Dr. Jim thought of all this, it was difficult to say. Sidney's prophecy was thrown into the background so far as he was concerned by the discovery that Mrs. Marsh had died from an overdose of chloral. He had always warned her that she might make a mistake, and apparently she had done so at last. But when Petronella told him of the letter he changed his mind. What if she had committed suicide? He recollected her vague allusions to enemies, and her persistent declaration that she might not live long. At once he set about hunting for the letter, Petronella helping him. But it was not to be discovered although they searched high and low. At last, Herrick spied ashes in the fireless grate, and found that some paper had been burnt, without doubt the letter Mrs. Marsh had received.

"Was there a fire in the grate on the day Mrs. Marsh died?" he asked.

"No, Signor Dottore. The grate was empty."

"Of course. I need not have asked. This flimsy stuff would have been swept away with the ashes. Humph! She must have got up and burnt the letter, and then--Well, we must wait for the inquest."

It was Herrick who attended to all the details of the funeral, as Marsh was completely bewildered by the sudden catastrophe. The inquest resulted in a verdict that Mrs. Marsh had died from an overdose of chloral, but no one hinted at suicide. As Dr. Jim gave evidence of her use of the drug to alleviate pain and obtain sleep, it was concluded that she had miscalculated the dose. Even Stephen believed that this was the case, for Herrick said nothing of his suspicions. What Petronella thought Dr. Jim could not find out. She was as secret as the grave.

Mrs. Marsh was buried in the family vault of the Carr's at Saxham. A large number of people came to the funeral, not because the dead woman had been popular, but that they wished to attend the rites of a person whose death had been foretold in so curious a manner. In the vault, the coffin was laid beside that of the late Colonel, and Herrick shuddered as he thought of these enemies lying side by side. Certainly, when the new vault was ready the body of the Colonel would be removed to it, in accordance with the terms of the will. But it would be some time before this was completed, and meantime Carr's body remained in the old sepulchre. Pending its removal, Stephen had had a new iron door put on the old vault, and kept the key to himself. It was quite safe in his pocket, and he never parted from it.

After the funeral Herrick made several attempts to discover something about the letter delivered to Mrs. Marsh on the day of her death, although he was careful not to hint that it had any connection with her sudden end. But although he questioned the postman and the postal authorities, he could gain very little satisfaction. It was a plain envelope stamped--so far as could be remembered--with the London post-mark. "Humph!" said Dr. Jim to himself when he acquired this information. "Frisco is in London. I wonder if he wrote that letter?"

However it was little use conjecturing. Mrs. Marsh was dead and had taken her secret and the secret of Colonel Carr along with her into the next world. Herrick put the idea out of his head, as he had much to do in considering his future position. Three or four days after the funeral he was alone with Stephen in the Beorminster house, and there spoke to the young man about his movements.

"I must return to London Marsh," he said. "I can do no more good here; and I must attend to my practice."

"No," replied Stephen quickly, "you must not leave me like this Herrick. I have grown used to you as a companion. I like you more than any man I ever met, and without you I should be lost. You must stay with me. Is your practice a large one?"

"On the contrary it is very small. I have been established in West Kensington only for two years. If I had not a small income of my own I should starve."

"Well you must come to me. I hope you will Herrick. I am rich, and I can allow you a good income--say a thousand a year."

"That is generous of you Marsh. Did your mother speak of this to you?"

"No! she did not. Why do you ask?"

"Because she wanted me to stay with you, and proposed the same amount."

"I am glad," cried Stephen his face lighting up. "I can do this much at least for her memory. So she wished you to remain with me? You will of course. I cannot do without you."

Herrick smoked in silence for a few minutes. "A man in my position has no right to turn his back on such good fortune. All the same Marsh, if I did not like you personally; if I did not think I could earn my income by helping you, I would not take the position."

"Then you will do so?" cried Stephen stretching out his hand.

The doctor grasped it heartily in token of acceptance. "But I am not without scruples as to taking such a large amount of money," said he. "I make only a couple of hundred a year by my practice. You rate me at a high value."

"Not too high for the good you will do me," said Marsh heartily. "I have been a different man since you came into my life. You have shown me how to look at things in a broader spirit. I am less morbid than I was. No, Herrick. I have eight thousand a year, and you shall have the sum I name."

"Very good. I am delighted. But for what period? You see Marsh, some day you will marry, and then you will find in your wife the companion necessary to your existence; you will not want me. I think we had better make an agreement for three years. By that time I shall have done you all the good I can; you will be used to your position. And," continued Jim looking into the young man's eyes, "you will be looking for a wife."

Stephen nodded. "Three years then," he said, "if you want a document, the lawyers can draw it up. As to marrying, I dare say I shall marry. Already I have"--here he broke off abruptly, "there are some things a man cannot talk about even to his best friend. Let the subject of love and marriage be tabooed between us Herrick."

"Certainly!" replied the doctor rather stiffly, "I have no wish to force your confidence Marsh."

"It's not that; but--I have an idea in my head. It may come to nothing. On the other hand--well," he dismissed it with a wave of his hand, "time enough to talk about it when it ripens. Let us change the subject."

In the face of this unwillingness on the part of Marsh, Herrick was obliged to do as he was asked. He wondered if Stephen really loved Ida Endicotte or whether it was Bess who attracted him. Time alone would reveal the truth, so Herrick for the moment thought no more about the matter. He had engaged himself to look after Stephen, and at once set to work to earn his income. The subject was introduced by Marsh.

"I think you and I ought to go abroad for a year or two," he said restlessly. "I feel that both Beorminster and Saxham are distasteful to me for a time. I have arranged to let Petronella live here, on a small income. I thought she would like to return to Italy, but she begged me to allow her to stay here for a time. I asked her to go to 'The Pines' but she refused. So here she must stay, and you and I Herrick?----"

"We will go up to London for a couple of weeks," said Herrick promptly.

"But I went to go further afield and for a longer time."

"Have you forgotten the terms of the will?" put in Dr. Jim. "You must pay a monthly visit to that vault, or the money goes to Frisco!"

Stephen nodded somewhat grimly. "I should have remembered," said he, "yes! I cannot travel until the year is at an end. But even if it so happened that I did not go to the vault and lost the money, I do not think that Frisco would return to claim it."

"Well I don't know," replied Herrick musingly, "after all we cannot be certain that Frisco killed his master. He may re-appear and explain his flight and prove his innocence. On the face of it, it would seem he is guilty but the evidence is all circumstantial. Better stick to the terms of the will, and not give him the chance of claiming the money."

"Very good Herrick. Then we will go up to London, and you can take me to tailors and all the other tradesmen whose goods I may need. I want you to educate me Dr. Jim. You have had a varied experience of the world and I have not. I am a country mouse, and you the Town one."

"At thirty-five I must have had some experience Marsh. Yes! I have travelled in my time. I have been round Europe with a man I was trying to reclaim from strong drink----"

"Did you succeed?"

"Partly," replied the doctor with a shrug, "he is a fairly decent member of society now. Nothing to boast of. Well Marsh, I have also been doctor on a liner to the East. Finally I went with an expedition into the interior of Africa. Now I am settled in the dull quarter of West Kensington, and often wish I could be off again on the long trail. Civilised life is too respectable for me."

"When the year is out we will go on the long trail together."

"Well," said Herrick, "an exploration of our planet will do you no harm. Later on you can settle down and be comfortable with a wife--I beg your pardon I am trenching on forbidden ground. However Marsh I am glad things are so arranged. It is a bit of good luck for me."

"And for me also Herrick. You can do me nothing but good."

"I hope so," said Herrick cheerfully "the first thing I intend to do is to take you out into the open air. You must hunt and shoot and golf and swim, and get yourself into a state of physical perfection. Your mind is all right. I like your poems, and you have it in you to do great things Marsh. But first of all you must attend to the body."

"I have neglected these things," said Stephen straightening himself, "but my life was so narrow, that I did not look after myself as a man should. Besides to tell you the truth Herrick I am so much of the student, that out-of-door life never attracted me."

"That is because you have never had a companion to interest you in the life," said Herrick smiling. "Now, I am devoted to athletic sports of all kinds. If I can infect you with my enthusiasm you will soon be able to take the deepest interest in them yourself. Not that I was fortunate enough to succeed with Joyce," finished Dr. Jim with a shrug.

"Ah, your friend who was staying at the Carr Arms? I never met him."

"You will when we go to town. He is not a bad little chap but his brain is too large for his body, Besides which he is neurotic, and intensely trying at times. I don't suppose I should have cured him altogether, but I could have made him twice the man he was, had he only taken my advice. But Robin was always as obstinate as a mule. He lives into himself and for himself. There is no hope for a man like that."

"I hope you will succeed with me Herrick."

"I am certain to succeed with you. In the first place your nerves are not diseased: in the second you are less selfish, and thirdly you are sensible enough to see sense--and that last is not given to many men. Well, we have had a long talk Marsh, so we had better go to bed, and begin our new life to-morrow."

It was three days after this that the two went up to London. Herrick called at Biffstead, and told Bess about his new relations with Stephen. She expressed herself greatly pleased. "You will do him no end of good," she said, "physical exercise is what he needs. He in making good use of his money," she added emphatically.

"You have too good an opinion of me, Miss Bess."

The girl laughed, and blushed. In her heart she liked Herrick greatly. He was so big, so strong, so sensible--exactly the sort of man she admired. Frank, her brother resembled him in many ways, but he was not so worldly-wise, nor perhaps so clever. However she was too much the woman to make a direct reply to Herrick's speech, and changed the subject. "When you come back we must have our talk," she said. "Meantime I shall give you something to go on with in London. Do you know anything about cryptographs Dr. Jim?"

"No. I have looked into the subject once or twice, but I never did much good at it. Why?" Bess went to her desk and fished out a bit of paper. "I want you to see if you can solve this," she said. "I have done my best and failed. It is a piece of paper I picked up in the Colonel's house when he was alive. I am sure it has to do with his secret, whatever that might be. Else why should it be in secret writing?"

Herrick took the paper she held out. It was a yellow kind of Chinese paper, tough, and wrinkled. On it was written in red ink the following,

"S.g.d. K.Z.R.S. V.z.q.m.h.f. S.h.k.k. 1.5.I.t.k.x. S.i.d.n. C.d.z.s.g. T.m.k.d.r.r.----"

This jumble of letters made Herrick stare. He could make nothing of them. Yet here, no doubt, was the secret of Colonel Carr! Perhaps if the writing could be read, the reason of his death might be explained, even the name of the assassin might be given. Bess watched him eagerly.

"What do you think of it?" she asked.

"I daresay it may help us," Herrick said doubtfully, "if the Colonel had a secret?"

"_If_ he had," cried Bess emphatically. "I _know_ he had!"

"Then it may be contained in this mixture of letters. You have failed, you say? Well Miss Bess, I don't know that I shall succeed. However I will try. You will let me have this?"

"If you will take the very greatest care of it. I have a copy to be sure; but that is the original."

"I'll bring it back to you safe and sound in two weeks."

"You will be back then?" she asked with a quick flush.

"Certainly. I shall arrange about my practice and return for good."

Bess looked down. "I am glad," she said in a low tone; then thinking she might have said too much she smiled in his face. "Of course I am glad," she cried gaily, "are we not pledged to find out who killed the Colonel?"