King of the Castle

Parry Glyddyr had grown more calm and firm as the day had worn on, while Chris had, on the other hand, become more excited; and, finding himself thus thrown close beside his rival, he could not help turning a sharp inquiring look upon him, as if asking what he had to say.

But no word was spoken, and, forced on by the crowd behind, they at last found themselves close up to the head of the table, listening to the coroners words as the various witnesses were examined, a low murmur arising when Claude’s name was called, and a way clear made for her to pass through, and give the little evidence she could as to her father’s habits, and then she was led, silently weeping, away.

Sarah Woodham – cold, dark and stern now – was called to speak of her duty in taking to her master his tonic draught, and she could tell of his habit in using a narcotic to produce sleep.

Other witnesses were examined, including both the doctors. As her gravely and deprecatingly stating how he had prescribed for his patient. The new doctor gave his opinion upon what he had seen; the coroner summed up; and the jury, sworn to do their duty in the inquiry, had no difficulty in unanimously agreeing that it was a case of accidental death, and gradually melting away with the crowd. Glyddyr, one of the last to leave the room, breathing more freely since he had given his evidence relative to seeing Gartram lying asleep, but feeling that he was ghastly pale, and afraid to meet Chris Lisle’s eye, as he passed out of the inquiry room, and out on to the cliff to let the soft, cool night air fan his cheeks.

His knees seemed to give way beneath him, and he was glad to move a little to one side, and rest against the iron rail that guarded the edge of the cliff, for he was giddy with emotion as he felt how narrow an escape he had had from destruction.

“But they could not tell,” he said to himself. “It was his heart; and no doctor could have analysed the case sufficiently to have said who gave him a larger quantity than he usually took.

“Yes, safe,” he muttered, with a feeling of relief and elation. But the giddy sensation returned, and he could gladly have gone into the inn and call for brandy, had he dared, the thought that such an action on his part might cause suspicion keeping him back.

He could hear the people, grouped about, discussing the event, and though it horrified him, and moment by moment as he stood leaning over the rail and gazing out to sea, he anticipated hearing something said which would fix suspicion upon him, he could not tear himself away.

His men were waiting for him at the harbour steps, but he shrank from moving, though he suffered agony in staying there, for out before him, on the dark sea with the stars reflected, and looking up at him like eyes, he felt that there was danger, and that he would not dare to go out to his yacht.

And yet he kept asking himself what there was to fear.

“Dead men tell no tales,” he kept saying to himself; but nothing seemed to check his nervous dread.

“Suppose all should be discovered?”

At last he tore himself away, determined to get on board the yacht, have a good stiff glass of brandy and water, and go to bed early; but, instead of turning off to the left and down to the end of the pier, he found himself led as it were up the cliff-path towards the Fort; and with the full intention of going right to the door to inquire how the ladies were, so as to force down and master the cowardly dread, he passed on, and when close to the drawbridge, stopped short.

A firm, elastic step was coming in the other direction, and a new dread assailed him.

Thought flies quickly, and in a few moments he had analysed his position.

He had, in his endeavour to obtain money, destroyed Gartram’s life. He had tried to make himself believe that he was only going to borrow part of what would be his anon; but, in his hurry and fear, he had failed to obtain the money, and he had removed Gartram.

What would be the result? Claude would doubtless have become his wife when urged by her father, but that father was dead, and he was face to face with the fact that he had destroyed his chances. For Claude had evidently a strong leaning towards Chris Lisle; and while he had been shiveringly and nervously leaning against the cliff rail, Chris had quickly made his way to the ladies’ side, had walked home with them, and now was returning master of the situation, and in another few moments would be standing face to face with him.

A fierce feeling of resentment sprang up in his breast, and, as his hands clenched, he could feel the veins in his forehead tingle and start.

Chris was coming slowly down the path, with his head bent, thinking deeply of Claude’s sorrow, and in spite of the angry words which had passed during their last interview, full of sorrow for the hard, passionate man cut off so suddenly; but as he suddenly found himself confronted by Glyddyr, he felt the blood flush up into his temples, and his hands shook,

It was momentary. His hands dropped easily to his sides, and he told himself that he need not fear Glyddyr now. He had only to wait patiently till the time of mourning and sorrow had passed away, and then Claude would naturally turn to him; and for the first time he felt glad that he had made that coup.

“I am not going to make an enemy of this man,” he said to himself. “I can afford to be generous;” and, breaking the silence, he said quietly, “Going up to the house, Mr Glyddyr?”

“Sir?”

“I said, are you going up to the house?”

“The man’s angry and disappointed,” thought Chris, and he spoke in the same quiet, inquiring tone.

“And, pray, by what right do you question me?” said Glyddyr angrily, and glad of something which roused him from the trembling, morbid state in which he was grovelling.

“I can hardly call it a right,” replied Chris, “and only speak as a very old friend of the family.”

“Friend? Why, confound you, sir; Mr Gartram ordered you never to enter his house again.”

“Let Mr Gartram rest,” replied Chris, gravely, and his tones were so impressive and seemed so full of suggestion that Glyddyr shrank again, and was silent. “I only wished to say that Miss Gartram is ill – utterly prostrate – and that an intrusion – ”

“Intrusion!” cried Glyddyr, recovering himself, and beginning to quiver with jealous rage.

“Yes, sir; intrusion upon Miss Gartram at such a time would be as cruel as uncalled for.”

“Intrusion! Such insolence! Are you aware, sir – ”

“I am aware of everything, sir, everything,” said Chris firmly; and once more Glyddyr, ridden by coward conscience, shivered, that word “everything” conveyed so much. “This is neither time nor place to discuss such matters. That poor gentleman is lying dead yonder; his child is broken-hearted, and I ask you, as a gentleman, to refrain from going up there now.”

There was silence for a few moments, during which Glyddyr battled hard with his feelings, and Chris felt that, had it been any one else, he would not have spoken in this way.

“And suppose, sir, I refuse?” cried Glyddyr at last.

There was another pause, for the smouldering hatred against this man deep down in Chris Lisle’s breast began to glow, and there was a curious twitching about his fingers; but the thoughts of what had taken place, and Claude’s pale, sorrowful countenance, rose before him, and he said quietly, —

“You cannot refuse, sir.”

“But I do,” raged Glyddyr. “Do you hear? I do refuse, and tell you it is a piece of insolent assumption on your part to dictate to me what I shall do.”

Chris was silent, and Glyddyr misinterpreted that silence in his excitement, or he would not have gone on with a passionate rage that was almost childish.

“Confound you for daring to come here at all. What do you mean, fellow? And now, understand this: if you intrude your presence upon that lady or her cousin again, I’ll have you horse-whipped and turned off the place. Do you hear me – go!”

“Parry Glyddyr,” said Chris gently, “at a time like this, every instinct within me prompts me to try and behave like a gentleman – ”

“You – a gentleman!” sneered Glyddyr.

“To one who was that poor man’s friend, and whom I should fain have believed – ”

“Curse your insolence!” sneered Glyddyr. “Leave this place. Go back to your kennel, dog. Don’t preach to me.”

“You have totally forgotten yourself, sir, and I can only attribute it to your having been drinking. I will not quarrel with you now, I once more appeal to you to go.”

“And I once more order you to go!” cried Glyddyr, whose mad rage for the moment rode over his natural cowardice. “What! You will not go? It is an insult to every one here. Be off!”

“Have you forgotten trying to turn me away from here once before?”

“When you took a cowardly advantage of me, sir. I have not forgotten it, but – bah! I have no time to quarrel with such a cad. Be off, and if you come here again, take the consequences.”

He turned on his heel to go up to the house.

“Stop,” said Chris, in a low deep trembling voice. “Mr Glyddyr, I appeal to you once more. Don’t go up there to that place now,” and he laid his hand upon his shoulder.

Glyddyr turned upon him, and made a backhanded blow at his face.

The flame flashed out for an instant, and then it was smothered down.

Quick as lightning Chris Lisle’s firm, strong hand gripped his rival by the wrist; there was a savage wrench given to the arm, and, after a miserable attempt at resistance, Glyddyr leant over to ease the agony he felt.

“If I did what nature seems to prompt me to do,” whispered Chris, “I should throw you into that moat; but, I will try and keep my temper. You are half-drunk. You are not fit to go up to that house. I am not afraid of your going there, but I will not have her insulted by your presence to-night. Come down here.”

His grip was like that of some machine as he gave Glyddyr’s arm another wrench, and then marched him right away down the path to the harbour, and then along the pier to the end.

Before they reached this point, Glyddyr had made another feeble attempt to free himself, and there was a momentary struggle, which brought both to the edge of the south pier, where there was a fall into deep water.

“Come quietly, or, by all that’s holy, I’ll throw you in,” said Chris hoarsely; and Glyddyr ceased struggling, and suffered himself to be led to the end, where the crew of the yacht’s gig were waiting, smoking, till their master came.

“Now,” whispered Chris, “go and sleep off your drunken fit. Another time, when you can act and think like a man, we may both have something more to say.”

He loosened his grip of Glyddyr’s arm.

“Here, my lads,” he said, “get your master aboard; he is not fit to be alone.”

“Drunk or mad,” said Chris to himself, as he strode quickly along the pier to get back to his own room, and try to grow calm.

“I suppose a man must feel like I did to-night,” he thought, after a time, “when the devil comes into him, and he kills his enemy. If he had known what was in me then, he wouldn’t have dared to say all that. But I’m better now.”

Volume Three – Chapter Two.

At the Grave

All Danmouth gathered to see the funeral procession wind down the granite-paved path to the cliff, and then along by the harbour to the little church on the rock shelf at the entrance of the glen.

Gartram had been hated, but death had destroyed all petty dislikes, and the people only remembered now the many acts of charity he had performed.

It was unwittingly, and by proxy, for he never knew one half of the kindly actions done in his name, and as the procession wound through the place, there was many a wet eye among the lookers-on, and the saying that ran among the simple folks, quarrymen’s and fishers’ wives, was: “A hard man;” and then, “but oh, so generous and good.”

It was against the etiquette of the sad ceremony, but Claude had said that she should follow her father to the grave, and the cousins walked behind the plain massive coffin, swung at arm’s-length by the handles, and carried by three relays of Gartram’s stout quarrymen, all ready to say: “Yes, a good master after all.”

Every blind was down, every one was in the street or along the cliff, for “The King of the Castle” was dead, and, for the most part, Danmouth seemed to have been made by him. So its people felt real sorrow for themselves as they said: “What is to be done now?”

On and on, with the slow tolling of the bell echoing right up the glen, and startling the white-breasted gulls which floated here and there, uttering their querulous cries as the procession wound its slow way on to the granite-built lych-gate – Gartram’s gift; and as they passed on to the church, Claude was conscious more than ever that Chris Lisle was standing bareheaded by the church door till they passed, and then, through her tear-blinded eyes, she saw that Glyddyr was within, pale and ashen, as he rested one hand upon a pew door.

Then out to the wind-swept churchyard, and there, after a few minutes, it seemed to Claude that she was standing alone, to place a few flowers which she carried upon the hollow-sounding oaken case.

“Come,” whispered a voice at her side, and she took the hand held out to her by her cousin, and was led away, feeling that she was alone now in the world. Wealth, position, such as few women at her age could claim, all seemed as nothing. She was alone.

As the mourners went sadly away, Chris Lisle walked slowly up to the entrance of the vault, and stood gazing down at the shining breastplate.

“Good-bye,” he said softly. “I will not say I forgive you, only that you did not know me. It was a mistake.”

As he moved away, he was aware of a ghastly countenance at a little distance, as Glyddyr stood watching him; but his attention was taken off directly by a tall, dark figure going slowly to the door of the vault, to stand there with hands clasped, and looking down.

He could not have told afterwards what it was that checked him from following the returning procession, but he stayed to watch that one figure, as, regardless of those around, it drooped for a moment, and then sank slowly upon its knees, and cover its face with its hands, and remain there as if weeping bitterly.

There was a group of rough quarrymen close at hand, all waiting to go up and have a last look at “the master,” before discussing among themselves, once more, their project to cut and erect a granite pillar over Gartram’s tomb.

They were so near Chris that he could hear the words, as one of the party said, —

“Poor Ike Woodham’s widow. Ay, lads, she’s lost the pride of her life once more. He was downright good to her when Woodham went.”

Chris took a step or two forward, for the solitary figure attracted him, and then another and another, quietly, as he heard a low, piteous wail, and saw the woman rise tottering to her feet, swaying to and fro.

“Forgive me! oh, forgive me!” she sobbed; and then she threw up her hands to clutch at vacancy.

Another moment, and she would have fallen heavily into the great granite vault, but Chris was in time: he flung an arm round her, and snatched her back insensible. She had swooned away, and had to be carried into the church till a vehicle had been procured; and Glyddyr had the satisfaction of seeing Chris enter the rough carriage and support the suffering woman till they reached the Fort.

“Thank you, Mr Chris,” she said hurriedly; “I’m better now,” and as he left her immediately, she hurried up to her room, opened her box, and poured out a portion of the contents of a phial into a glass.

Half an hour later, Claude was roused from her sad musings by one of the servants, who announced that Mrs Woodham was “took bad.”

It was something to divert Claude’s thoughts, and she hurried up to the bedroom to lay her hand upon the woman’s burning brow.

“Are you in pain, Sarah?”

“Hah!”

A long sigh, as if the cool, soft hand had acted like a professors rod in an electrical experiment, and the pain had been discharged.

“No, no – no pain.”

The woman’s eyes were closed, now that she had taken hold of the hand that had seemed to give her rest, and clung to it, keeping it by her cheek as she half-turned over in her bed; while Claude sent word that she was going to stay there and watch. And there, in spite of Mary Dillon’s prayers to let her stay, she did watch, and listen to Sarah Woodham’s muttered words.

“At rest now,” she cried twice. “Now he will sleep; or will he meet him face to face?”

Toward morning she slept calmly, and when, at daybreak, Mary stole into the room, exhaustion had done its work, and Claude was sleeping too.

Volume Three – Chapter Three.

Glyddyr Requires a Pick-me-up

“Guv’nor aboard?”

Glyddyr was seated in the cabin, restlessly smoking a cigar, and gazing through the open window at the Fort, where it stood up grey and glittering in the sunshine, and holding within it, protected by the memory of its builder, the two objects for which Parry Glyddyr longed.

He had made up his mind a dozen times over to go straight to the place and see Claude, but the recollection of that horrible night kept him back, and he gave up, to go on pacing the little saloon, talking to himself wildly.

For how, he said, could he approach Claude now – he, the destroyer of her father’s life – go and ask her to listen to him, talk to her and try to lead her into thinking that, before long, she must become his wife – tell her that it was her duty, that it was her father’s wish, when all the time it would seem to him that the mocking, angry spirit of the dead would be pervading his old home, looking at him furtively from his easy-chair, from his window and door, as he had seen him look a score of times before.

No: it was too horrible; he dared not.

Three times since Gartram’s death he had, with great effort, written kindly letters – he could not go to the Fort and speak – telling Claude that she was not to think him unfeeling for not calling upon her, but to attribute it to a delicacy upon his part – a desire not to intrude upon her at such a time; and that he was going away for a cruise, but would shortly be back, then he would call.

Three times he did set sail, and as many times did he come back into the harbour after being out for a few hours, to the disgust of the crew.

“The skipper’s mad,” they said; “drinks a deal too much, and he’ll have the ‘horrors’ if he don’t mind. He used to be able to cruise a bit, and now, if there’s a screw loose in the engine, she careens over, or there’s a cloud to wind’ard, he’s back into port, and here we are getting rusty for want of a run.”

It was always so. So soon as they were a few miles away, Glyddyr saw his rival taking advantage of his absence, and winning Claude over to his side, and with her the wealth that was to have been his.

“If I hadn’t been such a fool,” he would mutter, “I might have had it easy enough.” And he would sit day after day watching the Fort with his double glass, thinking of the wealth lying there – how easily it could be snatched by foul means, seeing how well he knew the place.

But common sense would step in then, and remind him that everything would be locked up now, perhaps sealed, and that Gartram’s arrangements were secure enough to set even burglars at defiance. No; it must be by fair play. He must lose no more time, but go to the Fort, and quietly show Claude that he was waiting, and contrive to make her confide in him – let him help her, so that he might gradually strengthen his position.

“And it wants no strengthening,” he said angrily; “it was her father’s wish, and we are betrothed.”

Then a fit of trembling assailed him, and he shrank from going up to the place, where it would seem as if Gartram were standing at the entrance, stern and forbidding, to keep him back.

He flew to brandy again, to steady his shaking nerves.

“No,” he gasped, as he drained his glass; “I can’t do it. I’m bad enough, but I can’t go and court the daughter after – ”

“Curse you, be quiet!” he cried, smiting himself across the mouth. “Do you want to blab to everybody the story of the accident?”

He seized the binocular again to watch the way up to the Fort, in jealous dread lest Chris Lisle should go up there; but, though he was constantly watching, and often saw Chris go out from his lodgings, it was mostly with his rod upon his shoulder, and in the other direction – toward the bridge and the glen.

And so the days glided by, till one morning, as he sat watching, longing to go up to the Fort, but putting off his visit till time had made him more confident and firm, he suddenly caught sight of a figure – the tall, sturdy figure of a man – going up to the entrance-gate.

Glyddyr was all excitement on the instant. A stranger – a well-dressed man – going up there! What could it mean?

He hardly left the little porthole through which he watched that day, but was constantly directing his glasses at the grey building.

Towards afternoon he saw the tall man come out from the study window, and begin walking up and down with his hands behind his back; then he stopped in a corner sheltered from the wind, and directly after there came a faint film of blue smoke rising, and Glyddyr looked on as the stranger walked to and fro.

“One of the old man’s best cigars, I’ll be bound,” muttered Glyddyr, laying down the glass, and biting his nails. “Who can he be?”

Ten minutes after, as Glyddyr sat there, glass in hand, he saw two figures in black come out of the front entrance, and go along the terrace a little way, to stand watching the sea.

He had it all there in miniature within the double circle of those glasses: Claude and Mary Dillon; and he could almost make out the expression upon the two pale countenances, till they moved slowly away and joined the tall gentleman who was walking up and down, and for the next hour they were in his company, ending by going in together, and the terrace was blank.

“A visitor – seems to be young – on familiar terms. There is no brother; I never heard of a cousin. Who can it be?”

Glyddyr gnawed his moustache, for here was a fresh complication. He could see no other reason for a visitor to be at Gartram’s house than as a fortune-hunter in search of Claude’s hand. This, then, was a new danger – from a man who was openly received there, and seemed quite at home. So that, while he was watching for the dangers of an assault upon the Fort by Chris Lisle, another had entered and taken possession.

“While I, like a cursed coward, have hung about, not daring to renew my suit.”

“Guv’nor aboard?”

Glyddyr had heard no splash of oars, nor the light jar of a boat touching his yacht side, but that voice made him start to his feet, and stand grinding his teeth.

“All right, I’ll go down.”

The next minute he was face to face with Gellow, dressed in a jaunty-looking yachting suit, and smoking a very strong cigar.

“Well, Guvnor,” he said, with an unpleasant grin, as he looked Glyddyr in the face, “there’s my hand if you like to take it; if you don’t, you can leave it alone, for it’s all the same to me. We parted huffy and short, and I’ll own up I was going to be very nasty. You kicked out, and it made me feel it. I was going to bite, Glyddyr, but I said to myself: ‘No; we’ve been good friends, and I won’t round upon him now.’”

“Why have you come down?”

“Now, come, don’t talk like that to a man who wants to help you. Come down to see you, of course.”

“For money – to badger me for payment of some of your cursed bills.”

“Oh, Glyddyr, my dear boy, what a fellow you are! No; I forgive you your nastiness, and I haven’t come down for money – there.”

“Then why have you come?”

“Two reasons.”

“Well?”

“To see how you were getting on.”

“That’s only one.”

“To have a chat with you about a certain lady.”

Glyddyr winced, and Gellow noticed it, but made no sign.

“We’ll talk that over after a bit. But how are you getting on over yonder?”

Glyddyr made an impatient gesture.

“Your digestion’s wrong, dear boy – that’s what’s the matter with you. But I congratulate you.”

“Con – what?”

“Gratulate you, dear boy. Of course, I saw all about that poor old chap dying of a drop too much.”

Glyddyr shivered.

“But it’s a grand thing for you. Easy for you to go and hang up your hat behind the door of as nice a bit of property as I ever saw. Pretty young wife, and your yacht, and a racehorse or two: you’ll be able to do that. By George, you’re a lucky man.”