CHAPTER XXIV THE NECKLACE

In spite of her regard for the old servant, Beatrice shrank from him as far as the space of the four-wheeler would permit. It was not agreeable to be cooped up with a self-confessed murderer, especially when the crime had been of so terrible a nature. Durban saw the movement and his eyes filled with tears. He was always emotional, and wept at very slight provocation.

"Don't shrink from me, missy," he implored, much agitated. "I did it for you, missy--for you."

"Why for me?" asked Beatrice, controlling herself with an effort.

"I'll tell you when we are in the train," replied the man, as the cab stopped at the station. He assisted her to alight, and she strove to suppress the shudder which almost overcame her as she touched his hand. Shortly they were seated in the train which was going to Liverpool Street. As the distance was very short, Durban commenced to tell the story of his crime at once. Fortunately there was no one else in the carriage.

"Missy," he said solemnly, "your dear father saved me from being hanged in the States. I was accused of stealing a horse, and although it was utterly false, the white men wanted to lynch me on account of my colour. The Colonel, however, came upon the scene, and he saved me. The real culprit confessed a few days later; but had it not been for the Colonel, I should now have been dead. Since that day to the hour of his death I never left him, and he always trusted me."

"You did not kill him, Durban?" faltered Beatrice, pale with fear.

"Missy," he exclaimed vehemently, "I would rather have killed myself than the good man who saved me! No, I did not kill him; but I believe Alpenny did for the sake of the diamond necklace."

"No, no!" cried Beatrice quickly. "My mother told me that she took the necklace from the green box; and as she was in the company of Mr. Alpenny all the time, he must be innocent."

"It might be so," said Durban gloomily; "but I never did trust your mother."

"Why do you dislike her so?" asked Beatrice wonderingly. In the interest of the conversation she quite forgot the earlier confession of the old servant.

"Why?" asked Durban fiercely. "Because she's a wicked woman, and made my dear Colonel's life a misery. She was always fond of admiration, and she broke his heart. But for the sake of his name, and but that he loved you, missy, as I love you, the Colonel would have separated from her many and many a time. She was always flirting with other men. She would have run away with Alpenny had he been willing to settle a good income on her: she would have eloped with Major Ruck but that he refused when he found that she had not the Obi necklace. And Alpenny left her the money--I was angry at that."

"Yes, I remember how angry you were."

"Because she deserved it so little," said the servant, with a gesture of rage. "But everything has gone well with her. She may not have killed the Colonel, but she knows who did; and I believe she and Alpenny between them are guilty. But she went away, as I arranged to keep things quiet for your sake, missy. I could not bear that there should be a blot upon your name. I intended to tell you one day who you were, and about the money you ought to have; but you found out things for yourself. I let you do so, as I thought that you might be the chosen instrument to put things right. You have proved yourself to be so; for now the Black Patch Gang, which has been the cause of these troubles, will be broken up, and everything will be right."

"Durban, I cannot believe that a good man like yourself would murder Mr. Alpenny."

"God bless you for that thought, missy! But I did kill him, and for your sake. He was about to force you into a marriage with Major Ruck, whom I knew to be a scoundrel. You would have killed yourself had you married him."

"I should never have married him," said Beatrice firmly.

"Yes, you would," insisted Durban. "Alpenny would have threatened to accuse your mother to the police. In order to save her you would have consented to become the wife of that wretch."

"Perhaps," said Beatrice, hesitating. "Is he a wretch, Durban?"

"Yes. He is also a gentleman, and was in the army. But he has no moral principles: he never had. He was kicked out of the army for cheating: he has been twice or thrice suspected of card-sharping, but the charges could not be brought home to him. There is not a club in London will have him for a member; and he knows only the wicked, needy people who hang on to the skirts of society."

"He knows Lady--I mean my mother."

"Yes. But he knew too much about her for her to refuse to acknowledge his acquaintance. Lady Watson knows very good people, as her husband, Sir Reginald Watson, was a rich and well-known sporting officer. Nothing is known in society about Lady Watson's past, or her connection with the death of Colonel Hall, her first husband. That is an old story, and people forget very easily nowadays, when a lady is rich. What with Sir Reginald's money and Mr. Alpenny's, your mother must be very wealthy."

"Did she inherit nothing from my father?"

"No, she did not. The money--and there was a great deal of it--was left to you, missy, with your mother as guardian. But I knew that if your mother brought you up, she would ruin you in some way, as she is so wicked. I therefore threatened to tell the police what Miss Duncan (who now is Mrs. Snow) told to me--that is, about the midnight meeting with Mr. Alpenny on the stairs. I insisted that you should be given into my care, so that I could look after you."

"And you have done it like a father," said Beatrice, giving him her hand gently.

Durban bent down and kissed it, with tears in his eyes. "I have done my best for your father's sake, missy, and at least I have saved you from your mother. I would have worked for you, and would have taken you from Hurstable, but I insisted on getting the diamond necklace which rightfully belonged to you. But Mr. Alpenny refused to give it up in spite of all threats, so I arranged that Amelia Hedge should marry him, and take charge of you. Alpenny promised that when he died he would leave the money and the diamond necklace to you. But he left the money to your mother, whom he always loved; and the necklace I got rid of, as I told you, as I feared for its luck. But it must be got back from your mother. We will go to her house now."

By this time they were at Liverpool Street Station, and the conversation was interrupted for a time. But shortly they were seated in a cab, as Durban thought he could talk more freely in one than if the two returned to Kensington by the underground railway. As the hansom rolled down Ludgate Hill, and on to the Embankment, the old servant renewed the conversation.

"We will meet Major Ruck at The Camp, missy, and give him the necklace, as I don't want you to have it."

"But could we not break it up and destroy the bad luck?" argued the girl. "It seems a pity to throw away ten thousand pounds on Major Ruck, especially as Mr. Paslow needs money."

"You will have your father's money," said Durban obstinately. "I shall make your mother give it to you. Of course, as you were thought to be dead, Lady Watson got the money, and no doubt has spent it. But she will have to refund it out of Alpenny's legacy. There will be no need to employ lawyers: I can force her to do what I want."

"Does she know that--that----" Beatrice hesitated.

"That I killed Alpenny? No; she does not know that. But she thinks that I killed my master--as though I would have hurt a hair of his dear head!"

"And I don't believe that you killed Alpenny either."

"Yes I did, missy," said Durban obstinately. "He wanted to make your life a misery, and I was right to kill him."

Beatrice said nothing for a few moments. With a white man it would have been different; but Durban had negro blood in his veins, and did not look upon murder as a more civilised person would have done. Beatrice was horrified inwardly, but she controlled herself sufficiently to keep quiet. After all, Durban had committed the crime for her sake; and much as she reprobated his wickedness--if wickedness it could be called, to kill so evil-living a man as the usurer--she could not find it in her heart to condemn him to the uttermost.

"How did you kill him?" she asked in a low voice.

"I did not go to town that night. I returned to see him, and had a quarrel in the counting-house. He was violent and flew at me. I had a struggle with him, and killed him. That is all!" he ended with apparent indifference.

Durban spoke as though he were saying a lesson. Beatrice looked at him attentively, and saw that his face had resumed the usual green colour it always took on when he was excited. The story was plausible enough. All the same, she did not believe that he was guilty any more than she believed in the guilt of Vivian. "You are innocent!" she said sharply. "Don't deny it. You accuse yourself to screen Mr. Paslow."

"Do you believe that he is guilty?" asked Durban hoarsely.

"No. I don't care what Waterloo says."

"What did he say?"

Beatrice related the whole accusation with the evidence, as detailed by Waterloo. Durban listened attentively, and wiped his face. "Guilty or innocent," he said in a strangled voice, "that evidence is sufficient to hang Mr. Paslow. I am guilty, missy."

"I don't believe it," retorted Beatrice. "Everything connected with these matters has been sordid and evil; but that you, who have always been so kind, should kill even so wicked a man as Mr. Alpenny, is ridiculous. Nothing will ever make me believe in your guilt. But here we are," she broke off abruptly; "say nothing more until we have seen my mother. We will get the necklace, and close the Major's mouth. I will question Vivian and hear what he has to say."

"No, no, missy!"

"Yes, yes!" retorted Beatrice imperiously. "I will not let you, my oldest friend--my almost father--accuse yourself of a vile crime, when I know that you would not hurt a fly."

Durban would have answered, but that they had to alight. The cab was dismissed, and Durban rang the bell. As Lady Watson proved to be at home, they were shown up into the drawing-room. The mistress of the house might have refused herself to Durban, whom she hated, but the footman said that he had been given orders to admit Miss Hedge whenever she called. This showed Beatrice two things. Firstly, that her mother really wanted to see her as often as possible, and might have some small affection left; and secondly, that she did not intend to acknowledge her as her daughter, seeing that she had given the servant the name of Miss Hedge instead of Miss Hall.

Lady Watson expressed surprise at seeing Durban, and joy at beholding Beatrice. "You dear girl!" she said, embracing her; "you did make me so miserable this afternoon. I am just going out to dinner, and can only give you ten minutes.--I am surprised to see you, Durban."

"And not very pleased, Mrs. Hall."

"Give me my title, if you please," said the little woman sharply. "Say what you have to say, and go away. I wish to speak with my child--the child of whom you robbed me."

Durban shrugged his stout shoulders and turned away, while Beatrice looked at her mother steadily. Lady Watson was arrayed in a very fashionable dinner-gown worn very low, and her complexion was coloured to match. Her jewels were many and rich, and conspicuous amongst them was the diamond necklace which they had come to take away. She really looked very well in the rose-hued light of the drawing-room, and wonderfully pretty. No one would have thought that she was the mother of this noble, sad girl arrayed in deep black.

"Ten minutes," said Lady Watson, consulting a tiny jewelled watch. "But you can come to-morrow, darling."

"I am going down to Hurstable to-morrow," said her daughter coldly--"to The Camp."

"The horrid place!" said Lady Watson, fastening her glove. "I shall sell it, I think."

"No," said Durban, coming close to her; "you will give it to Miss Beatrice along with the money she inherits from her father."

"She inherits nothing."

"Yes, she does. The money of my dead master was left to you for her use. She was supposed to be dead----"

"That was your fault," burst out Lady Watson savagely.

"And you used the money," went on Durban, as though he had not heard her speak; "but Mr. Alpenny's legacy will provide funds for you to restore the money. There is sufficient to give Miss Beatrice two thousand a year."

"I won't give her a penny!" said the little woman, setting her teeth and looking extremely ugly. "I want all my money to myself."

"You must return this money," said Durban coldly; "and also, this very moment, you must give back the diamond necklace."

Lady Watson placed her gloved hand on the jewel which flashed on her neck. "This?" she gasped. "Never! it is mine. It was bought for me."

"Quite so, madam," said Durban; "but when the Colonel found that you were flirting with Major Ruck, he determined to keep it for his child. By the will--of which I have a copy--Miss Beatrice inherits that necklace."

"Child!" said Lady Watson tragically, "will you see your mother robbed by this--this--this low nigger?"

"If the necklace is mine, I intend to have it," said Beatrice coldly; "it is my intention to make some use of it, otherwise I would leave it to you. I want to have nothing to do with you, Lady Watson."

Lady Watson dashed the fan she held on the table, and broke it to pieces. "I am your mother!"

"No," said Beatrice steadily, "you never loved me, or you would not have given me into the care of strangers."

"He made me--he made me," and she pointed to Durban.

"For the sake of my dead master," said Durban calmly. "Come now, madam, you must give up the necklace. I will see your lawyer to-morrow about the transfer of Miss Beatrice's money to herself."

"I refuse--I refuse!"

"Take care," said Durban fiercely, and again coming close to her. "I can make Mrs. Snow tell what she saw on that night."

"I have told all that to my child," quivered Lady Watson, crying with fear.

"But not to the police."

"The police!" echoed the little woman, growing pale under her carefully coloured face, and sinking into a chair.

"Yes. If you did not kill the Colonel, Alpenny did."

"No. I swear he was with me the whole time: he is as innocent as I am. You can do nothing."

"I perhaps cannot prove you guilty," said Durban steadily, "but I can tell the police what Mrs. Snow saw, and get the whole case into the papers."

"Who will care, when the Colonel died so long ago?"

"His death is evidently connected with this Alpenny crime," said Durban harshly, "and so the public will be quite glad to read all about the earlier one. What will your friends say?--who will take your hand when he or she knows what I have to tell about that midnight meeting, and of your projected elopement with the notorious Major Ruck?"

Lady Watson trembled and burst into tears, which, streaming down her face, aged her in a few minutes. "Beatrice, what am I to do?" she wept.

"Give up the necklace," said the girl, keeping aloof--she could not find it in her heart to pity a mother who had behaved so badly to her child, a wife who had tricked her husband so often--"then we will leave you, and say nothing."

"But if I give up the necklace, will you come and see me?"

"Yes," said Beatrice with an effort; "after all, you are my mother."

"You horrid girl! you are just like your father. Oh, well, if I am to be blackmailed by an unnatural child and a nigger, I must pay the price, and you may be glad that I don't give you both in charge."

Durban crossed to the bell. "I will ring if you like. There is a constable outside."

"No!" shrieked Lady Watson, and unfastened the necklace with trembling fingers. Durban took it from her in silence, and then she rallied sufficiently to rage. "You horrible black creature!" she cried, "you have stolen my property, and have turned from me the heart of my dear child. Go away, I hate the sight of you."

"Come, missy," said Durban, holding open the door.

"Yes, go--go, Beatrice. You've made me quite ill. I shan't enjoy my dinner a bit to-night, and there is such a good cook. I'll have to look after my face again--it's quite ruined." She tripped to the mirror and looked in perfectly calmly. While she did this Beatrice, sad at heart at such frivolity under such circumstances, withdrew with Durban, and they took their way to Mrs. Quail's hotel.

"I'm glad you saved me from my mother, Durban," was all the girl said; but in the seclusion of her bedroom she wept bitterly. In those days, at that moment, the world was very grey and dismal.