The Solitary Farm Part 16

"I shall certainly not marry Silas Pence, or anyone but Cyril," said Bella in icy tones. "You have no right to interfere in----"

Mrs. Coppersley stamped and interrupted in her turn. "No right! no right!" she bellowed furiously. "I have every right. This house is mine, and the food you eat is mine. If I turned you out you would have to starve, for I am certain that your fine lover would have nothing to do with you. He's a bad man; your father said so."

"My father knew nothing of Mr. Lister."

"He knew that he was bad; he said as much. Why"--Mrs. Coppersley pointed a fat finger towards the round table in the centre of the room--"there's a photograph of him, and in a silver frame, too. What extravagance. How dare you spend my money on silver frames?"

She dashed forward to seize the photograph of Cyril, which Bella had brought down from her bedroom and had left unthinkingly on the table.

Doubtless Mrs. Coppersley would have destroyed the portrait, but that Bella secured it before the good lady could reach the table. "Mr. Lister gave me this," said Bella, putting it behind her back; "frame and all; it is mine."

"And you dare to bring into the house the picture of a wicked profligate whom your father hated," roared Mrs. Coppersley, her red face s.h.i.+ning with perspiration and her little eyes flas.h.i.+ng with wrath.

"My father being so good himself," said Bella ironically, and feeling quite cool. "Mr. Lister is not a profligate, Aunt Rosamund, and you are a bad woman!"

Mrs. Coppersley gasped like a dying dolphin. "Me a bad woman!" she cried, puffing out her cheeks ludicrously; "me, when Henry says that I am the best woman in the world. And I'd have you know, Bella, that I'm a lady and no woman, miss--so there."

The girl, in spite of her grief and dismay, laughed right out. "Even a lady must be a woman," she observed sarcastically.

"Leave my house! leave my house," panted Mrs. Coppersley.

"No. I shall remain here until I know if the will is correct. I shall stay here, as I say, and shall receive polite treatment. If I do not, I shall dispute the will, and make things unpleasant."

Mrs. Coppersley snapped her fingers. "That for all the harm you can do,"

she said coa.r.s.ely. "The will stands good in law. I have made sure of that by consulting Mr. Timson, who drew it up. You can stay here for a week; at the end of that time you pack up and go."

"Where to, Aunt Rosamund?"

"That's your look out, miss. But you don't stay here to spoil my honeymoon with my darling Henry."

Bella shrugged her shoulders. It really was not worth while losing her temper with a person whose methods were so crude. The more enraged Mrs.

Coppersley became, the cooler Bella felt. "Do you know what you are, Aunt Rosamund?" she remarked coolly. "You are a bully, and a petty tyrant. While my father was alive you cringed to him because you were afraid. Now that you think you have the whip hand of me, you vent your spite on one whom you think cannot retaliate. If I had the money, you would cringe to me; as you have it, you take every advantage of your position. But it won't do, Aunt Rosamund, for I am not the girl to submit to your insults. I shall stop here so long as it pleases me to stop, and if you make yourself disagreeable I shall know what to do."

Mrs. Coppersley's face grew slowly white, and her mouth opened and shut like a cod-fish. Had Bella wept, she would have gone on bullying triumphantly, but this cool, calm, scornful demeanour frightened her. At heart, like all bullies, she was a coward, and knew well that if it were known how she had ousted Bella from her rightful inheritance, that she would be unpopular. As Mrs. Coppersley liked to be popular, and hoped, by means of her marriage with Vand, her wrongfully obtained income, and her possession of Bleacres, to be the great lady of the neighbourhood, she did not wish to drive Bella to extremes. She therefore wiped her face, and hedged.

"You mustn't be angry with me Bella," she said in quieter tones, "I wish you well, my girl."

"You wish me just as much as suits yourself," retorted Bella coolly; "so far you have had everything your own way. Now I mean to look into things for myself. You can go now, and entertain your darling Henry. I shall not come to dinner. Send up Jane with some food to my bedroom."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," protested Mrs. Coppersley feebly, for her late rage had exhausted her, and she did not feel equal to fighting this pale, steady-eyed girl.

"I have told you what to do; so go and do it!" said Bella, without raising her voice, and looked Mrs. Coppersley squarely in the eyes.

The mistress of Bleacres tried to face down the gaze, but failed, and thoroughly cowed and beaten, in spite of her better position, she slowly retreated, muttering to herself a vengeance which she was unable to fulfil.

Left alone, Bella gave way. Pride had kept her up during the quarrel with her aunt, but now, secure from observation, she broke down and wept. Never before had she felt so lonely or so helpless. Cyril was away, and she could not confide in him, for even if he had been present the terms on which they had parted forbade confidences. There was Dora Ankers, the school-mistress certainly--a good friend, but a bad adviser, as she knew very little of the world. And there was no one else who could help her in the dilemma in which she was placed. She had no home, no friends, and--on the face of it--no lover. It was a terrible position for a girl who hitherto had never met with serious trouble.

In spite of the drawn-down blinds and the cool atmosphere of the room, Bella could scarcely breathe, so she moved to a side window, drew up the blind, and lifted the lower sash. Outside, the brilliance of the suns.h.i.+ne was almost blinding, and through the quivering heads, across the still, stiff stalks of the corn, for there was no wind, she could see the gaudy red of the scarecrow coat. The mere glint of the violent hue made her head ache, and she returned to the middle of the room to walk up and down wearily thinking of what was best to be done in the circ.u.mstances in which she found herself. The photograph of Cyril in its silver frame she replaced on the table. The much-loved face smiled encouragingly on her. At least, in her over-wrought state she thought so, and the thought aided her to beat down the many fears which a.s.sailed her.

While musingly walking the room, she became aware of a slight noise, and turned abruptly towards the window to see a black face grinning at her, with very white teeth. At once her thoughts reverted to the prophecy of Granny Tunks, and she felt a sudden thrill of dread as she saw that a black man actually had come to the Manor-house. For one moment, the negro and the fair, young girl looked steadfastly at one another, she filled with nervous fear, and he, curiously observant. After an almost imperceptible pause--which seemed hours to Bella--the man leaped through the window, before she could regain her voice to forbid his entrance.

"Where is my master?" he asked, in guttural tones, but in fairly good English.

Bella did not immediately reply, as her nerves fairly thrilled with the weird realisation of what the witch-wife had seen in the crystal, and even now she had not her voice under command. The negro was tall, bulky, and powerfully framed, coal-black from head to foot, with tightly curled hair and sharp, white teeth like those of a dog. Bella had never seen so huge and strong a man, but in spite of his formidable appearance, his dark eyes had a kindly look in their depths, and his movements were extremely gentle. Apparently his bark was worse than his bite, though his uncivilised looks were enough to awe the boldest. Plainly but roughly dressed in an old tweed suit, with brown shoes and a bowler hat, he was not noticeable, save for his stature and enormous virility. The sensation he produced on the girl was overpowering, yet it was not entirely one of fear. In spite of his cannibal looks and unexpected entrance, and imperious demand, she felt perfectly safe.

"I am Durgo!" explained the negro, annoyed by her silence, as was apparent from the frown which wrinkled his eye-brows. "Where is my master?"

"I don't know where your master is," she replied, finding her tongue with some difficulty. "I do not know who your master is."

"My master," said the negro, "is my master. He came here two weeks and some days ago, more or less. I have come to find him. Where is he?"

"How can I tell you when I do not even know his name?" asked Bella sharply.

"His name is----" Durgo was about to satisfy her curiosity, when he caught sight of the photograph in the silver frame, which still stood on the table. With a guttural cry of delight, he caught this up in his huge hands. "Oh, my master! my master!" he gurgled, in an ecstasy of delight.

Bella stepped back a pace with a scared look. "Mr. Lister your master?"

Durgo nodded, and coolly slipped the photograph, frame and all, into the breast pocket of his tweed coat. "He is here! I shall find him," he remarked. "Did my master see Captain Huxham?"

"Yes," she replied mechanically.

"Did my master and Captain Huxham quarrel?"

"Yes," she replied again, and still mechanically.

"And did my master get what he wanted?" demanded the negro, rolling his eyes.

"I don't know what Mr. Lister wanted," said Bella faintly; "you must explain yourself, and----"

"I explain nothing until I see my master," was Durgo's reply. "Perhaps Captain Huxham knows where my master is?"

"Captain Huxham is dead," she gasped.

Durgo shut his strong white teeth with a click. "Dead!" he repeated.

"Ah--aha--aha; Captain Huxham is dead. Then my master----"

"No," cried Bella, covering her eyes. "I don't believe that Cyril killed my father--I don't believe it."

"Cyril! father!" repeated Durgo, looking at her curiously. "I must learn if----" He broke off suddenly and moved noiselessly to the window. Bella stretched a helpless hand to stay him, but, lightly vaulting out of doors, he disappeared in a moment. She rushed to the window and saw him running down the path towards the boundary channel. There was no chance of catching him up, as she saw well, and therefore drew back.

"The crystal! the crystal!" she muttered to herself, s.h.i.+vering. "Granny must know what it all means. I must see Granny, and ask about the crystal."

CHAPTER X

A LOVERS' MEETING