CHAPTER XXVI WHAT TOOK PLACE

It was quite two months before Beatrice Hall recovered sufficiently to hear after-events. For a long time she remained unconscious, and then came to herself only to suffer from a severe attack of brain fever. The poor girl had gone through so much--she had borne up with such bravery--that the long-continued strain had sapped her strength, and she was seriously ill for weeks. Even when she recovered her reason--which she did, owing to the careful and assiduous nursing of Vivian and his sister--the doctor would not allow her to be told anything. And, indeed, Beatrice did not seem anxious to hear: it appeared as though her mind was a blank. All she cared to do was to lie on her bed, and listen to Vivian reading some soothing book.

Dr. Herman (the same who had examined the corpse of Alpenny, and had given evidence at the inquest) was her medical attendant, and he conducted the treatment with great care. With such a delicately-balanced brain as Beatrice possessed, and after she had undergone such terrible experiences, the doctor seemed to be doubtful if she would be quite sane when she got back her physical strength. He went about with a grave face, and Vivian's heart was wrung with anguish as he thought of what might happen. It seemed terrible that he should, for once, have a chance of happiness with the woman he loved, only to find that she would suffer from something worse than death. In those long days of suspense Vivian turned more to God than he had ever done before in his careless life. And God rewarded his faith. Slowly but surely Beatrice recovered, and when the doctor permitted her to be taken on to the terrace in the mild autumn weather, the peace and fresh air completed her cure. She felt her brain becoming much steadier, and again began to take an interest in life. But always she desired to have Vivian by her side, and was never so happy as when he sat beside her couch holding her hand. In two months she was quite her old self, although paler and thinner. But the troubles she had passed through left their marks on her lovely face and in her sad eyes.

"Let me tell her everything now," Vivian urged to Dr. Herman one day; "she is beginning to ask questions, and will not be satisfied with being put off with vague replies."

"Ah," said the doctor with much satisfaction, "she is asking questions, is she? Then you can take it from me, Mr. Paslow, that she will recover completely. It is that renewed interest in life which I wished to see. Wait for a week, and then she will be strong enough to hear what you have to say. But when she once knows," added the doctor, raising his finger gravely, "never let her hear of the subject again."

"Never, never!" said Vivian, with a shudder, as he also was only too anxious to bury the past which had tormented him for so long. And then he went to tell the joyful news to Durban.

Needless to say, Durban also had been watching everlastingly beside the couch and bed of the creature whom he held dearest on earth. He was like a dog, and when not within the sick-room would lie on the mat at the door. When he heard that his dear young mistress was out of danger, he almost went out of his mind, and vehemently embraced Mrs. Lilly, much to the indignation of that portly female. But when she saw his dog-like devotion, she forgave that exuberant expression of the man's feelings.

So things slowly worked themselves out to a joyful issue. Beatrice was told that in a few days she would be informed of all that had taken place since she fainted in the counting-house, and obeyed the orders of Vivian that, until the time came, she was not to ask any questions. Then one glorious autumn day, when the sun was shining with a summer-like force, and everything seemed to revive under its royal beams, Vivian carried her down the stairs as usual and out on to the terrace. Here, in her favourite nook, she rested contentedly on a soft couch, and a small table was placed beside her. Dinah and Jerry, who were also faithful attendants, hovered round with shawls and rugs and reviving drinks, and such-like things. When Beatrice was comfortably established, she took Vivian's hand softly.

"How good it is to be loved!" she said sweetly.

"Who could help loving you, my own?" said Paslow tenderly. "We are all your slaves here."

"Where is Durban?"

"He will come shortly. And Dinah and Jerry can go away?"

"Why?" demanded Dinah quickly, and rather offended.

"Because Dr. Herman says that I can tell Beatrice everything, and it will be better that we should be alone."

"Oh, Vivian"--the face of the invalid flushed a rose colour--"am I to know everything now?"

"Yes"--he bent down and kissed her--"as a reward for obedience. Then Durban will come and see you; and Jerry can escort Dinah back, unless they forget us in love-making."

"Well," said Jerry very shrewdly, and taking Dinah's hand, "I expect you really won't want us, as you will be love-making yourselves. Besides, I have to read a letter to Dinah."

"From your mother?" asked Dinah rather nervously.

"From my father. He is now settled comfortably in Wales, and likes everything immensely, and----"

"Oh, come away," interrupted Dinah, tugging him by the hand; "don't give me the gist of the letter here. Can't you see that Beatrice and Vivian are dying to be alone? And I want to consult you again about that study of ours. I really don't think that green hangings will suit your complexion, and then--" Here Dinah dragged the willing Jerry down the shallow steps and across the lawn, babbling all the time of their future home.

Beatrice, left alone with Vivian, put out her hand, and heaved a sigh of pleasure when she felt his warm fingers close on that frail member. A thrill ran through her, and everything she beheld before her seemed to take on a brighter hue, because the man she loved was beside her. Yet as she felt his touch and looked into his bright face--for bright it seemed, though sadly worn and thin--a recollection of the barrier between them disturbed her pleasant thoughts.

"Why do you wish to take your hand away?" asked Vivian, as he felt her exert a weak strength.

"Your--your--wife," faltered Beatrice faintly.

"You are to be my wife, dearest," he answered gravely. "No," in reply to her startled look, "Maud is not dead. But she never was my wife."

"Vivian! She said that she was."

"Of course, to gain her own ends. But she is really the wife of Major Ruck: she married him when she first went to town. I believe old Alpenny arranged the marriage, as Major Ruck being a member of his Gang, he wished to secure so clever a woman as Maud also."

"Is this true?"

"Perfectly true; so you can leave your hand in mine for ever."

"That would be a long time," said Beatrice, with a weak laugh of joy. But all the same she allowed her little white hand to rest within Vivian's, and then looked at him inquiringly.

"You wish to ask how we found out?" said Paslow, smiling. "Easily enough. Major Ruck redeemed his promise, and removed the obstacle to our marriage by leaving on the desk in the counting-house a certificate of marriage between himself and Maud Orchard. We--that is, Durban and myself--went to the church where the marriage was solemnised, and found that the certificate was genuine. Major Ruck and Maud Orchard were man and wife some months before I came on the scene, and she entrapped me into that unhappy marriage."

"But what was Major Ruck doing in the counting-house?" said Beatrice, puzzled. "He was not due until the next evening at seven."

"You forget, my darling, what has happened. Waterloo----"

"Yes, yes! I remember now," cried Beatrice, half raising herself in her excitement. "He was coming out to kill me with that horrible knife, when someone pulled him down, and I fainted."

"It was the Major who pulled him down," said Vivian, gently pushing her back. "Be calm, Beatrice, and I'll tell you everything."

"But I remember a lot," she insisted. "Waterloo said that the den at Stepney had been raided, and that he had got away--the Major also. Then because he knew--the Major, I mean--that Waterloo had betrayed the Gang, he followed him down to kill him."

"The Major did not kill him, however, darling. Waterloo was----"

"Wait a moment, Vivian," she entreated. "I want to see how much I remember. Waterloo said that the Major had followed him down by the same train. I suppose the Major came by the secret passage----"

Vivian placed his arms round her so that her head could rest on his breast. "Darling, darling, you must allow me to speak. What you say is true, and you have remembered much. Major Ruck was after Waterloo to kill him, because of his treachery. How he found that the man was coming to Hurstable I do not know. But the den was certainly raided: Tuft and the doctor who attended my wife's double are in custody--the Gang is broken up. The police have examined Durban and myself, and everything has been made clear. While you have been ill the newspapers have been full of the business, and Jerry Snow has made quite a reputation in writing sensational articles."

"Go on," said Beatrice, much interested.

"I will, if it will not excite you too much."

"No, no; I am perfectly calm. Feel my pulse, dear."

Vivian did so, and caressed her fondly. "Speak as little as you can, my dear," he said softly, and then continued his story. "Waterloo knew that Ruck would kill him if he could, and never thinking that the Major would suspect his coming to The Camp--into the jaws of the lion, as it were--he came down here, and the Major--as Waterloo told you--followed him."

"Waterloo got the necklace?" said Beatrice, thinking with an effort.

"He did for a time; but the Major has it now. Hush, dear! The Major, as he wanted to escape, could not wait until the next evening to see you. He came down at once, or perhaps he followed Waterloo. However, he tracked him to The Camp, and saw him go down the secret passage. Ruck went down also, and listened below while Waterloo was talking to you. He knew or guessed that he had the necklace, and when Waterloo was about to kill you--which he would have done in that deserted Camp--the Major saved you by pulling Waterloo into the passage. Waterloo fought like a wild cat, I believe--at least he says that he did----"

"What! Did Waterloo confess?"

"On his dying bed he did."

"Is he dead, then?"

"Quite dead. God punished him. Do listen, my own. Waterloo fought, not only for his life but for the necklace. But Ruck, as you know, is a big man of great strength. He dragged him along the passage and strove to strangle him. Waterloo tried to use his knife, but could not do so at first. Then Ruck secured the necklace, and Waterloo made a violent effort to strike. To escape the wound, Ruck threw him as far as he could along the passage. Waterloo struck against the brickwork, and tried to rise. But the passage as you know, Beatrice, was in bad repair; the blow loosened the earth overhead where it was not bricked in, and a mass of earth fell which buried Waterloo under it. Then Ruck, seeing that the villain was punished, entered the counting-house and found you insensible. He did not wait to revive you, as he knew that the police were on his track; he simply left on the desk the certificate of his marriage with Maud Orchard, and bolted."

"Where has he gone?"

"I can't tell you that. But he vanished, and his wife Maud has vanished also. They managed to get a boat at Brighton, and rowed out at night to a passing tramp. It seems that the captain was in the pay of the Black Patch Gang to take the stolen goods abroad. However, the steamer was waiting off-shore, and Ruck escaped with his wife and the necklace in that way. Nothing has been heard of him up to date, and I don't expect anything ever will be heard of the two. Maud is clever, and so is her rightful husband, so I expect, now that they have money, they will live in some tropical clime in the odour of sanctity. At all events, my darling, they have passed out of our lives."

"Thank God for that!" said Beatrice fervently. "And Waterloo?"

"Durban came back and tried to revive you. I returned with the constable, and saw that something terrible had taken place. While Durban and Dinah took you back to Convent Grange, I and the constable searched. We went down the secret passage, as we found the trap in the counting-house open. We heard groans, and got some men to dig Waterloo out. He was taken to the Brighton Hospital, and Inspector Jones--who had to do with the inquest, you remember?--was sent for. Waterloo made a full confession."

"About Alpenny's murder?"

"Yes, and about the doings of the Black Patch Gang. You were right, my dear. Waterloo was the member. Ruck called the executioner, and I will not shock your feelings by telling you how many people the wretch murdered. But he killed Alpenny almost in the way he accused me of killing him. That is, he went back to The Camp and there met Ruck. They entered through the large gates, and Alpenny, dressed for his flight, came out. He cried for mercy, but Waterloo cut his throat."

Beatrice shivered. "Don't tell me any more."

"Only this, darling--that Waterloo gave Ruck my handkerchief, and he placed it near the body to incriminate me. Ruck walked to Brighton after making an ineffectual search for the necklace--which was the real reason for the crime; and Waterloo escaped by the secret passage and loafed up to London as a tramp."

"And Durban?"

"He arrived later, and found Alpenny dead. He told you all about that. He then found the necklace and placed it on the sheep's neck, to get rid of it for ever. He returned the next morning pretending to know nothing, as he was fearful lest he should be accused."

"Then Ruck was the man I saw at the gate?"

"Yes. He wore the black patch over the left eye, as a member of the Gang. That is their mark--or rather it was, as the Gang is now but a name. Those caught have been sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, although Ruck and Maud have escaped, and Waterloo is dead."

"The Black Patch?" mused Beatrice. "Vivian," she added suddenly, "did Waterloo kill my father?"

"He did," said Vivian quickly. "I thought you would guess that. It seems that Alpenny found out about your mother's intended elopement, and told Ruck that he would prevent it unless he got the necklace. As that was all Ruck wanted--for he had no love for your mother--he induced Waterloo to try and steal it, promising him a share. Waterloo assumed the black patch so that, if possible, the blame might be put on to Alpenny."

"How do you mean?"

"Waterloo threw away the patch when he escaped, so that Alpenny, if the doings of the Gang ever came to light, might be suspected."

"I see. Go on, Vivian; I am much interested."

"I hope it is not too much for you, dearest," said Paslow earnestly. "But to make a long story short, Waterloo entered by the window and tried to steal the green box, where Ruck had told him the necklace was placed. The box, however, was chained to the bed. The noise that Waterloo made woke your father; but before any struggle could take place, and while the Colonel was but half awake, Waterloo sprang on him and cut his throat. Then while he was trying to wrench open the green box and get the necklace, he heard voices."

"Those of my mother and Alpenny?"

"Yes. But they spoke so low that he did not know who they were, or he might have remained. As it was he ran away, fearful of being caught. He dropped the black patch to incriminate Alpenny, as I told you. Next day Ruck learned that Alpenny had the necklace, and how he had forced it from Mrs. Hall--that is from Lady Watson, your mother. The rest you know."

"How terrible!" said Beatrice with a sigh. "And my mother?"

"She saw the police, and substantiated Waterloo's dying confession. But the police acquit her of complicity in the crime. However, although as little as possible was published in the papers, she has gone to the Continent, and talks of entering a convent. And I hope she will like it," ended Vivian grimly.

"I am not sorry, for I never could have loved her, Vivian. But she is my mother after all, so I shall see her when we go abroad."

"You shall do what you like, dearest. We will be married as soon as possible and go to Italy for a year."

"Can you afford it, Vivian?"

"You can," he said, laughing. "Don't you know that you have two thousand a year inherited from your father? Lady Watson had spent it, but at Durban's request she refunded it out of Alpenny's legacy. We will not be rich, dearest, but we will be able to pay off the mortgage and restore the Grange, and live a quiet life together."

"That is all I wish for," said Beatrice, putting her arms round his neck. "I want peace after all this storm."

"You will have, darling," said Vivian, kissing her; "but we will first go abroad so that your cure may be completed. Jerry and Dinah will be married on the same day as ourselves."

"Not by Mr. Snow?" said Beatrice, shuddering. "I have no grudge against him: but his wife----"

"She cannot harm you, dear, now. The police gave Mrs. Snow a pretty talking to for withholding the evidence she could have given. She is a very subdued woman now, and, I think, is glad to bury herself in Wales as the wife of that rural Dean, Mr. Snow. He will be master in his own house at last, for he knows so much about her that she will not dare to contradict him."

"And Durban?"

"Here he comes. Durban, come here."

The half-caste, his face shining with joy, rolled towards them as stout as ever in spite of his grief. At the expression on the face of his young mistress he stopped short. "She knows?" he asked Vivian timorously.

"Everything," said Beatrice, before Vivian could speak. "And I thank God, Durban, for having given me such a friend!"

"Missy, I loved your father." He dropped on his knees beside the couch and took her hand. "And you do not blame me for having kept you in ignorance?"

"No. The situation was a difficult one. You and Mr. Paslow here were both surrounded by rogues and many dangers. And all your concealments and reluctant confessions were made to save me anxiety, so I thank you, my dear friend, for your kindness I knew you were a good man, even when you accused yourself to save Vivian."

"I could not let him be hanged when you loved him," said Durban, hanging his head.

"You see, Beatrice," said Vivian, smiling, "it is only of you that Durban thinks. I am nowhere."

"When you marry Miss Beatrice," said Durban, rising, with a grave smile, "you will be one with her, and I'll love you both equally. I know you will be happy, missy. After much storm has come the sunshine."

"And that," said Vivian gaily, "will endure for the rest of our lives."

Beatrice took the old servant's hand. "There is only one thing to settle," she said sweetly: "Durban is to give me to you at the altar."

"Oh, missy--me--no--no--a black--a half black!"

"You are a whole white," said Vivian quickly, and taking the good old fellow's other hand. "Beatrice is right. You have stood to her in the place of her father and mother, and you have shielded her from a thousand dangers. You shall come to the wedding and give your treasure to me."

"Sir--missy----" Durban could say nothing more; his eyes filled with tears and he hastily retreated.

"Joyful tears, good old soul!" said Vivian, again gathering Beatrice to his breast. "He'll come and live with us, Beatrice, and we'll turn that horrible Camp into a jungle. Never more will we talk of the past, and--and----"

"Vivian, Vivian! How you run on!"

"I am too happy to be sensible. What are those birds we hear singing, saying, my sweetest?"

"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!" was the unexpected answer of Beatrice.

Vivian's face grew grave. "I think we will, and now," he said; and with his future wife in his arms he breathed a prayer of thankfulness to the merciful Father who had brought them both to a safe haven.

The End