Scarhaven Keep by J. S. Fletcher (best value ebook reader TXT) 📕

The Coroner hesitated, looked at Greyle’s solicitor, and then turned sharply to the jury.

“I refuse that application!” he said. “You have heard all I have to say, gentlemen,” he went on, “and you can return your verdict.”

Petherton quietly gathered up his papers and motioned to his friends to follow him out of the schoolroom. The foreman of the jury was returning a verdict of accidental death as they passed through the door, and they emerged into the street to an accompaniment of loud cheers for the Squire and groans for themselves.

“What a travesty of justice!” exclaimed Sir Cresswell. “That fellow Spurge was right, you see, Copplestone. I wish we hadn’t brought him into danger.”

Copplestone suddenly laughed and touched Sir Cresswell’s arm. He pointed to the edge of the moorland just outside the schoolyard. Spurge was disappearing over that edge, and in a moment had vanished.

Amongst the little group of actors and actresses who had come over from Norcaster to hear all that was to be told concerning their late manager, sat an old gentleman who, hands folded on the head of his walking cane, and chin settled on his hands, watched the proceedings with silent and concentrated attention. He was a striking figure of an old gentleman⁠—tall, distinguished-looking, handsome, with a face full of character, the strong lines and features of which were further accentuated by his silvery hair. He was a smart old gentleman, too, well and scrupulously attired and groomed, and his blue bird’s-eye necktie, worn at a rakish angle, gave him the air of something of a sporting man rather than of a follower of Thespis. His fellow members of the Oliver company seemed to pay him great attention, and at various points of the proceedings whispered questions to him as to an acknowledged authority.

This old gentleman, when the inquest came to its extraordinary end and the crowd went out murmuring and disputing, separated himself from his companions and made his way towards Mrs. Greyle and her daughter, who were quietly setting out homewards. To Audrey’s surprise the two elders shook hands in silence, and inspected each other with a palpable wistfulness of look.

“And yet it’s twenty-five years since we met, isn’t it?” said the old gentleman, almost as if he were talking to himself. “But I knew you at once⁠—I was wondering if you remembered me?”

“Why, of course,” responded Mrs. Greyle. “Besides, I’ve had an advantage over you. I’ve seen you, you know, several times⁠—at Norcaster. We go to the theatre now and then. Audrey⁠—this is Mr. Dennie⁠—you’ve seen him, too.”

“On the stage⁠—on the stage!” murmured the old actor, as he shook hands with the girl. “Um!⁠—I wonder if any of us are ever really off it! This affair, for instance⁠—there’s a drama for you! By the by⁠—this young Squire⁠—he’s your relation, of course?”

“My nephew-in-law, and Audrey’s cousin,” replied Mrs. Greyle. Mr. Dennie, who had walked along with them towards their cottage, stopped in a quiet stretch of the quay, and looked meditatively at Audrey.

“Then this young lady,” he said, “is next heir to the Greyle estates, eh? For I understand this present Squire isn’t married. Therefore⁠—”

“Oh, that’s something that isn’t worth thinking about,” replied Mrs. Greyle hastily. “Don’t put such notions into the girl’s head, Mr. Dennie. Besides, the Greyle estates are not entailed, you know. The present owner can do what he pleases with them⁠—besides that, he’s sure to marry.”

“All the same,” observed Mr. Dennie, imperturbably, “if this young man had not been in existence, this child would have succeeded, eh?”

“Why, of course,” agreed Mrs. Greyle a little impatiently. “But what’s the use of talking about that, my old friend! The young man is in possession⁠—and there you are!”

“Do you like the young man?” asked Mr. Dennie. “I take an old fellow’s privilege in asking direct questions, you know. And⁠—though we haven’t seen each other for all these years⁠—you can say anything to me.”

“No, we don’t,” replied Mrs. Greyle. “And we don’t know why we don’t⁠—so there’s a woman’s answer for you. Kinsfolk though we are, we see little of each other.”

Mr. Dennie made no remark on this. He walked along at Audrey’s side, apparently in deep thought, and suddenly he looked across at her mother.

“What do you think about this extraordinary story of Bassett Oliver’s having met a Marston Greyle over there in America?” he asked abruptly. “What do people here think about it?”

“We’re not in a position to hear much of what other people think,” answered Mrs. Greyle. “What I think is that if this Marston Greyle ever did meet such a very notable and noticeable man as Bassett Oliver it’s a very, very strange thing that he’s forgotten all about it!”

Mr. Dennie laughed quietly.

“Aye, aye!” he said. “But⁠—don’t you think we folk of the profession are a little bit apt to magnify our own importance? You say ‘Bless me, how could anybody ever forget an introduction to Bassett Oliver!’ But we must remember that to some people even a famous actor is of no more importance than⁠—shall we say a respectable grocer? Marston Greyle may be one of those people⁠—it’s quite possible he may have been introduced, quite casually, to Oliver at some club, or gathering, something or other, over there and have quite forgotten all about it. Quite possible, I think.”

“I agree with you as to the possibility, but certainly not as to the probability,” said Mrs. Greyle, dryly. “Bassett Oliver was the sort of man whom nobody would forget. But here we are at our cottage⁠—you’ll come in, Mr. Dennie?”

“It will only have to be for a little time, my dear lady,” said the old actor, pulling out his watch. “Our people are going back very soon, and I must join them at the station.”

“I’ll give you a glass of good old wine,” said Mrs. Greyle as they went into the cottage. “I have some that belonged to my father-in-law, the old Squire. You must taste it⁠—for old times’ sake.”

Mr. Dennie followed Audrey into the little parlour as Mrs. Greyle disappeared to another part of the house. And