A Woman's Burden: A Novel

"I rather think that's about the only way you'll ever lead him in that particular direction," said Miriam drily.

Mrs. Parsley rubbed her nose with more than her usual vigour. Miriam waited, taking it as an infallible sign that there was more to come. The old lady looked troubled and embarrassed.

"Of course," she began, "the boy's an awful liar; still – " she hesitated.

"Oh, do go on, please."

"Yes; I think you ought to know. Well, Shorty, amongst other things, has had a fit – don't be alarmed, dear, on his account, he's all right – the devil looks after his own – a fit of repentance, or what stands for such with him. Anyway, he's been confessing certain facts which are rather serious for your brother Jabez. It appears he saw him hanging round the Manor House on that Christmas night – in fact, he saw him in the library with Barton."

"I don't believe it," cried Miriam vehemently. "Why, I had that letter from him from London – "

"Exactly, my dear; but you saw him afterwards at Southampton remember. The fact is, Shorty hints pretty plainly that Jabez killed Mr. Barton! and although it's terribly painful to me to say, all things considered, it does look very like it. You know, dear, it can be no surprise to us to learn that he is capable of murder."

"No; I know. What can I say – it may be so; yes, it may be so. But, dear Mrs. Parsley, I don't believe it is, I really don't. I saw him in Southampton it is true, but – oh, I don't know what to say. What shall I do?"

"Do? There's nothing for you to do. Only if Jabez is wise he'll clear out, that's all. You see, dear, if this is the truth, and he know it, we can't condone it. He must be got away. That's his only chance. In an affair of this kind his past life would handicap him greatly, you mustn't forget that."

"Would to God that I could."

"Well, well, you must keep calm, Miriam dear; it was best I should tell you. We'll do nothing hastily. We'll see Major Dundas first. Only you see my position. If this boy persists in what he says, he'll have to be taken to the police – there's no help for it."

"No– I see." She seemed completely stunned by this fresh blow.

Mrs. Parsley rose to go.

"Now, Miriam dear, just turn things quietly over in your own mind – I must go before it gets any later, I've lots of things to do, and I want very much to catch the five o'clock. There's nothing to worry about for the moment. Only we must act rightly and circumspectly, that's all. You know, dear, I would not be the one to bring more trouble upon you. I want to lighten what exists. Now don't be silly, there's a dear girl." Then she kissed her and hurried away.

From the window Miriam watched her slopping through the rain with her vigorous stride and her skirts half way up to her knees. She thought what a good creature she was – almost the only friend she had in the world; almost, because there was one other, whom she felt she could trust with her life. He would surely help her now, as he had always been ready to help her in the past.

Sick at heart she returned to her chair by the fire, and meditated on this new trouble which threatened her. And the more she thought the more bewildered she seemed to become. A knock at the door roused her. Would that girl ever learn to answer the bell within five minutes of its being rung? At last her mind was put at rest, for the Major, looking very much himself, was shown into the room.

"I've come to see if you'll take pity on me, Mrs. Arkel," he said, "so far as to give me a morsel of dinner. I've taken what the Scotch call a 'scunner' at my club."

"Of course I will, though I fear it will be little more than a morsel," replied Miriam. "Put your hat and coat in the hall – I'm so glad you've come."

This was sweet music to the Major's ears. But he noticed she seemed nervous and not quite herself.

"Nothing wrong, I hope," he said.

"Yes, indeed; very little's right," sighed Miriam, "but you mustn't tempt me to begin pouring my troubles into your ears directly you enter the door."

"Your troubles are mine, Mir – "

"Oh, I know how good you are; that's why I hate to worry you."

"Now, come along, sit down and tell me all about it."

"No; not till after dinner. It will keep; but just that you may know why I look worried, I may tell you that Jabez has been here again this afternoon."

"Oh! the same old errand I suppose?"

"Yes; he wanted money. I gave him what I could."

"Well, that ended the matter, didn't it? My dear Mrs. Arkel, I do wish you'd let me deal with this scamp of a brother of yours. You see, I know all about him, and he wouldn't – "

"All? I'm afraid not even you know all about him?"

"Yes," said Dundas emphatically. "All; even to the fact that he is at this moment wanted on a charge of murder!"

CHAPTER X.

THE MAJOR'S POINT OF VIEW

Although for long Miriam had felt convinced that Major Dundas knew considerably more about her brother's life than he had any intention of acquainting her with, the force with which he drove home those last words completely terrorised her. Coming as they did immediately on the top of what Mrs. Parsley had told her, they, to her mind, conveyed only one meaning – that her brother was known now as the murderer of Mr. Barton, and as such would assuredly have to pay the penalty of his crime. She could not conceal the alarm she felt, and as she leaned back in her chair pale to the lips, her throat seemed almost to close, and her heart to stop with nervous dread. With quick indrawn breath she waited for his next words. They were words of comfort.

"Mrs. Arkel," he said, "I fear I have alarmed you. Believe me, you can trust in me. What I have just told you I knew a year ago. If I did not have your brother arrested then you need not fear that I shall do so now. He is safe from me – for your sake."

She was puzzled. It could not have been then to the murder of Mr. Barton he had referred after all. He could not have known about that a year ago. He must have meant that other – that terrible crime which had so overshadowed her life during all these years, and of the consequences of which to Jabez she had lived in daily dread. She took for granted that it was so.

"I know – I know," she said, "and I can never thank you for your forbearance. But, indeed, the charge against my unfortunate brother was not one of murder – it was manslaughter."

Dundas paused before replying.

"I am afraid," he said, a trifle drily, "that you will find the verdict of the coroner's jury leaves no room for misunderstanding on that point; still, there is of course the chance that after all this time – it is six years ago you remember – I may be mistaken."

"Do you know all the facts of the case, Major?"

"Surely. The affair made a great stir in my regiment at the time. You see your brother had shown very soon after enlisting that he was a man of ungovernable temper, and no amount of discipline seemed to have any effect upon him. He was punished again and again for his insubordination. At last after punishment more than usually severe he deserted, and for a long time, in spite of the most careful search, he eluded capture. When in the end they did find him it was in London, and he was arrested by four men and a sergeant. He surrendered so quietly that the sergeant foolishly omitted to handcuff him. The hour was late and the street ill-lighted. He attempted escape. The sergeant snatched a bayonet from the musket of one of the men, and as he did so Crane closed with him and stabbed him to the heart, and then managed to get clean away. The whole affair, I suppose, was the work of a few seconds. They chased him as far as the river, and he was seen to throw himself in. Then they appear to have abandoned him, and he has not since been heard of. I think these are the facts exactly, are they not, Mrs. Arkel?"

"From one point of view, yes; but Jabez has always declared that the sergeant tried to stab him, and that he snatched the bayonet from him in self-defence only. In the struggle that ensued the sergeant was stabbed, true, but the act was defensive on Jabez' part, not aggressive. That I really believe is the truth, in which case of course it would be manslaughter and not murder."

"Your brother naturally makes out the best possible case for himself. But the evidence of the men went to prove conclusively that the act was deliberate. At all events he funked trial, and the coroner's verdict was one of wilful murder."

"Yes, I know he did. It was marvellous how he escaped, and afterwards he was afraid to give himself up. How he managed, good swimmer as he was, to keep himself afloat in that surging stream, was always inexplicable to him himself – sheer force of despair, I suppose. However, he did manage it, and eventually found shelter at Mother Mandarin's."

"Who is this Mother Mandarin?"

"She is an old woman who keeps an opium den in Lambeth. Her name came to her through her having been an orange-seller at one time. Jabez had among other vices contracted that of opium smoking, and he was a good customer of hers. Consequently when he rushed in soaking wet that night, and told her he was in danger, she took him in and concealed him. For months he remained there, not even the immediate neighbours knowing of his presence."

"No – it was assumed he was drowned. The district was supposed to have been thoroughly searched, and absolutely no trace of him was found. I myself was of the same opinion until that day I saw him here."

"How did you recognise him?"

"By the colour of his eyes and hair, and more particularly by the scar on his forehead. For a while I could not place him, though I was positive I knew the man. Then suddenly it flashed across me, and the identity of his name with yours struck me. You remember how startled you were? I concluded of course from the name that he must be some connection, but it never dawned upon me he was your brother. I can hardly describe to you what I felt when you told me."

"Can you imagine what it was to me to have to tell you?"

"I know – don't think of it now. It has all been very terrible – very horrible. And the worst of it is I fear there is more to come!"