CHAPTER XVIII WHAT ORCHARD KNEW

"Let her go," said Beatrice, holding back the angered husband by main force; "only in this way can you keep her out of the house."

"But the necklace," said Vivian, pausing, while his wife vanished amongst the shadows of the trees. "Are you sure?"

"No. How can I be sure? I have never seen the necklace. But the diamonds were too lovely to be paste. You know I have seen many jewels pass through Alpenny's hands, and sometimes he explained their particular beauties and values to me. I am sure the gems in that necklace are real: they flashed so wonderfully in the moonlight."

"Diamond necklaces are rare in the Weald," mused Vivian thoughtfully, "and Maud is not likely to possess such jewels, for she has little money. It must be the famous Obi necklace. Where could she have got it, Beatrice?"

"Who knows?" she replied, her cheek slightly paling. "Is she one of the members of this Black Patch Gang?"

"So far as I know anything of her life, she is," replied Paslow, his eyes averted. Then he turned and seized her hands with vehemence, "Oh! my heart's darling what can you think of me after this revelation?"

Beatrice did not pause an instant in making reply. "I think you were very foolish to keep the truth from me."

"But how could I tell you of my sinful folly?" he pleaded, and his voice was very sweet in her ears. "See what a sordid tale it is: a foolish boy, and a clever woman! Yet God knows"--he broke off and cast away her hands--"it is not right that I should blame the woman, as men usually do. After all, Maud has some good points about her."

"I did not see them," responded Beatrice, with the bitterness with which one woman will always talk about another she hates.

"But, believe me, she has," insisted Vivian quickly. "She has been a burden to me; she did her best to drag me down to her level of thievery and roguery; but I cannot forget that I knew her here, as a child--when she really was good and kind. And, Beatrice," he added, with a flush, "on my soul I believe that in some things she is not what one might think her. You heard her say that she had been a true wife to me?"

"Yes," answered the girl, not to be outdone in justice even to a rival; "and I believe what she said. But if you love her----"

"Don't say that." He sprang towards her, all his heart in his eyes and passion in every note of his voice. "I love you and you only; no other woman has ever made me feel what you have. I met Maud in London, and even before, I had a kind of boy and girl passion for her. Then we were playmates, remember, in spite of the difference of our position. I was sorry when she told me how lonely she was in London. I did not know that she lied in saying so. I was young and inexperienced, and she caught me with a tearful eye and a quivering voice and a tale of woe. I married at haste to repent at leisure. But, oh Heavens!"--he broke off, pressing his hands against his aching brow--"when I think of that horrible police-court, and the way in which I was accused of what I never did, I hardly dare to look you in the face. I am soiled with the mire of criminality. I must be an outcast, a scoundrel in your eyes."

"You are in my eyes what you always have been," replied Beatrice in a soft tone--"the man I love."

"Still, still--you--you love lie?" he stammered.

"Yes. No, do not touch me," she added hastily, as Vivian flung himself forward. "You had a right before she came, as you were ignorant, and I see from her own confession how you were deceived; but now, she is your wife--she is alive. Until that barrier is removed, we can be nothing but friends to one another. I cannot stay here."

"Beatrice! Beatrice!"

"I cannot," she answered steadily. "I love you, and I cannot see you day after day with calmness."

"You can remain as Dinah's companion," he said entreatingly. "I shall pay you a salary, and then you will be independent."

"No. Dinah has Jerry; she wants no companion. I will go to town, and to Lady Watson. She was my mother's friend, and will be able to help me."

"You will go as her companion?"

"Oh no. I don't like her sufficiently for that. But she may be able to get me a position as a governess or something else. And also, I wish to ask her about my mother, whom she knew. Mrs. Snow gives a cruel version of what my mother was. Lady Watson may be more truthful. And some day," she added, drawing so near to Vivian that it took him all his powers of self-repression to refrain from taking her in his arms--"some day, when the barrier is removed, we may come together."

Vivian shook his head. "Maud will never give me a chance of divorce, my dear," said he bitterly. "She is too clever and--I may say it to you--too passionless."

"Never mind, we can remain friends."

Paslow groaned aloud with anguish. "Can there be friendship between us after all that has come and gone?"

"Yes," said Beatrice quietly, "because we are soul friends, and do not love entirely after the physical. Come, Vivian,"--she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder--"let us commence our friendship by talking sensibly of these matters."

"What matters?" he asked listlessly, for the man was worn out with the struggle which was going on in his breast.

"About the murders of my father and of Alpenny. We must learn who committed them."

"What good will that do?"

"This much: it will destroy the power which this gang holds over your head. Major Ruck knows that you were accused of theft, so does Tuft the lawyer and your wife. For their own ends they will hold this in terrorem over you."

"They have always done so," said Vivian sadly. "They cannot hurt me so far as the police are concerned, as I left the court without a stain on my character. But socially, if they told my friends----"

"If your friends turn their backs on you, they are not worthy to be called friends," said Beatrice quickly. "You must face this gang of people. Do you not know their secrets, and thus may be able to counterplot them?"

"I know nothing about them; but Durban may. The paper which was on my desk, and which told me to threaten Alpenny with the black patch, was--now I feel sure--in Durban's handwriting."

"It probably was," said Beatrice thoughtfully. "I shall see Durban and ask him to be open with me. But did you not know anything about the Black Patch Gang, Vivian?"

"No," he said earnestly; "I swear I did not. I fancied from what Maud let drop at times that Alpenny and herself and Ruck were all connected with some criminal organisation; but I never knew anything about the black patch, which seems to be their badge. I used the words on Durban's paper--if Durban did write them--quite unknowingly. And now when I remember their effect, and remember also how your father was murdered, and how you also saw a man issuing from The Camp with a black patch over his eye, I feel sure that there is such a gang, and that Alpenny was connected with it. Probably I was used to warn him that he would be killed, for some reason. He may have betrayed them, or made personal use of the goods he received. But whatever it was, I certainly unconsciously gave him the warning; and he was killed--I am convinced of this--by a member of the gang."

"I agree with you," said Beatrice promptly. "Well, I shall see Durban to-morrow, and he may speak out. I shall insist on his doing so. Also, I shall see old Orchard."

"Why?"

"Because I believe she got that necklace from him--your wife, I mean. That was why she came down, and why she acknowledged the relationship to Orchard."

"You don't think he killed Alpenny, Beatrice?"

"No. The man is too old, and, moreover, would not have the courage. But he may know something of the murder. In any case, if the necklace was in his possession, he will have to account for having it. Major Ruck insisted that my mother had it and left it to Alpenny, who should have given it to me. And he would have done so, in order to close Major Ruck's mouth."

"But how could he do that if he gave you the necklace?"

"Oh," said Beatrice calmly, "it was to be my dowry, and I was to be made to marry Major Ruck. You heard yourself; Vivian, how the Major confessed that it was the Obi necklace he wanted. Perhaps he will make your wife give it up to him."

"He will indeed be clever if he can manage that," said Vivian, grimly. "My wife will not readily part with diamonds like that, and I fancy she knows enough about the Major to keep him silent. Well, Beatrice, let it be as you say: see Durban in the morning, and then Orchard. But I wish you would stay here."

"No, you do not, Vivian," said the girl, determinedly. "You love me too well for that."

"Perhaps I do. I shall always love you. Oh Beatrice, if you can only get at the truth of these murders and bring home the crime to the Black Patch Gang, you will lift from my shoulders the burden of years. I will work also. I have been a weak fool, allowing myself to be blackmailed and humbled by these rogues. But you have put fresh life into me, my darling. I shall now assert my manhood."

"I quite understand how you shrank from publicity," she said in a soothing tone. "You are brave and manly, I know: but a man who would face a cannon's mouth would, in a case like this, be fearful for his good name. Let me search out the matter."

"But you will allow me to help?"

"When I want your help I shall ask it of you," she replied. "And now, as our relations are changed,--for the present, at all events,--let us shake hands on the bargain of being friends."

Vivian did so without a sigh. The position was a hard one for him, but he recognised that it was harder for the girl. And when he saw how bravely she faced these difficult matters, he cursed himself for the moral cowardice which had made him submit for long years to extortion and concealment. "You put new heart into me," he said again, and they shook hands as friends, as Dinah came up with Jerry.

"Jerry and I have been talking about our new flat in London," cried Dinah, long before she arrived on the terrace. "And we will live in West Kensington. I shall keep a saloon, and be a literary woman."

"A drinking saloon?" asked Vivian, glad of the diversion.

"No, you stupid! A thing like Madame de Rambouillet--collecting all the wits of London, you know."

"Goodness knows where you'll find them," said Jerry bluffly; "wit is an extinct art.--I say, Vivian, where is Miss Carr?"

"That horrid girl!" interpolated Dinah.

"You didn't think her horrid once, Dinah, when you played with her."

"I never did," said Dinah, opening her eyes and following her brother into the well-lighted drawing-room; "a painted----"

"She was not painted then," interrupted Vivian impatiently. "And what Jerry told you about Orchard being her father ought to have----"

"Oh!" cried Dinah, starting, "now I remember, Maud Orchard of course. She was a housemaid or something."

"Not quite that. She attended on Mrs. Lilly, who behaved like a mother to her."

"Yes, yes. And then she went to London, and Mrs. Lilly was very angry. So that was her! Why did she call herself Carr?"

"It's a journalistic name," said Jerry.

"Oh!" said Dinah again. "I hope Snow is your real name?"

"My very own," said Jerry, with a grimace. "I would certainly have chosen a different name had I selected one. But I am born a Snow, and have to put up with it."

"Where has Maud Orchard gone?" asked Dinah, irrelevantly.

"She had to see after some business and went away," said Beatrice, as Vivian found it difficult to answer this question. "She only came here to see your brother and remind him who she was."

"Well, I am stupid," said Dinah, swallowing this white fib; "but I have such a bad memory for faces. I can only remember Jerry's because it is so very plain."

"I call that hard," said Jerry plaintively.

"I call it silly," retorted Dinah, tapping him on the face with her fan. "Now have a whisky and soda with Vivian, and go home. Beatrice and I are going to bed. And I am sure you want to sleep," she said, glancing at her friend's pale face; "you look quite worn out."

"I am all right," said Beatrice somewhat impatiently.

"Good night, Jerry--good night, Vivian," and the two girls went up to their rooms; while Vivian played host to Jerry, and got rid of him as speedily as he could. He was in no mood for the young journalist's aimless chatter.

Next morning Beatrice awoke at five o'clock. She could not sleep longer, although, owing to being worn out on the previous night, she had slumbered very soundly. It was a lovely fresh morning, and she felt inclined for a walk. It was too early to see Durban, as he would not yet be up, early riser though he was. After a few minutes' thought, Beatrice decided to walk up to the Downs and see if old Orchard was about. She would get there about the time he was starting off with his flock, and in any event would be certain to find him in his hut at the morning meal. Hastily scribbling a note that she would return to breakfast and had gone for a stroll, Beatrice dressed herself and stole downstairs. Leaving the note on the dining-room table where it would certainly be found by Mrs. Lilly, the girl went out of the back door. The house-dog in the yard barked joyously at her coming, as she was a favourite of his. Beatrice, for the sake of company, let him loose, and took him with her.

She literally danced along the road in spite of the troubles which environed her. She was young, and the morning air was like champagne. Also she felt a conviction that things would surely come right, and that she and Vivian would become man and wife. She did not wish for the death of Mrs. Paslow, wicked as the woman was, nor did she wish Vivian to divorce her, which--as he had said--he could not do. But she felt that in some way the barrier would be removed, and that its removal lay in her own hands. Thus her heart began to grow light, and as she climbed the Downs amidst the glory of the dawn, she breathed a prayer to God that He would take all these troubles out of her life, and bring her to a safe haven.

Orchard was at the door of his hut as usual, and also he was eating, just as he had been when she saw him last. He might have been seated there all the time, for all she knew. The sheep were nibbling the dewy grass, and the sun was rising in splendour, when the old shepherd beheld her. He turned his mild eyes on her, and greeted her quietly.

"You're the young lady as called to see me the other day?" he said.

"Colonel Hall's daughter," explained Beatrice, taking the stool he offered, "and I have come to see you about yours."

"About my what?" asked Orchard quietly.

"About your daughter Maud. She came last night to see Mr. Paslow."

"Ah yes," said Orchard, with such composure that Beatrice was certain that he knew nothing about the marriage, or his daughter's life. "Maud and Master Vivian were playmates together. She's a pretty girl."

"She is," assented Beatrice cordially; for no one could deny the beauty of Maud Paslow, marred as it was by artificial aids.

"And a good girl," said the old man, slightly warming. "She ain't ashamed of her old father, although she writes books and lives like a fine lady in London."

"Yes, I hear she is a journalist," said Beatrice, and then abruptly added: "She must make a lot of money to have so fine a diamond necklace as she showed Mr. Paslow and myself."

"Did she show that?" said Orchard, with a slight cloud on his brow. "It was foolish of her. It is a necklace like one that Colonel Hall had years and years ago. Durban said that there was some witchcraft about that necklace, else why should it have been missing for so long, only to turn up here two days ago on the neck of a sheep?"

"What?" asked Beatrice, amazed.

"And now I come to think of it," said Orchard, whose memory was apparently going, "Colonel Hall was murdered by Alpenny for that necklace."

"It is the same?"

"Of course it is, miss. I recognised the setting when I took it off the sheep's neck."

"But how could such a set of jewels get on a sheep's neck?"

"Ah!" said old Orchard, with great mildness, "that's what I want to find out. Mr. Alpenny had the necklace, I am sure. Perhaps, as Durban said, there was bad luck about it, and Mr. Alpenny put it on a sheep's neck to get rid of the spell."

"What rubbish!" said Beatrice impatiently.

"Rubbish or not, miss, I found that necklace on the neck of one of my sheep. The poor thing had broken its leg, and I went to put it out of its pain. The diamond necklace was round its neck, and I gave it to Maud, as it was no use to me. I hope it won't bring her bad luck, since it is the Obi necklace."