Henry Wood - Johnny Ludlow, Fourth Series

“I denied it because it was not he,” said Mr. St. George, not appearing to be in the least put out. “How can I tell you it was Brook when it was not Brook? If it had been–”

“You met William Brook at the Worcester railway-station yesterday afternoon,” interrupted Ellin. “Mrs. James Ashton saw you there; saw the meeting. You were at the station, were you not?”

“I was at the station,” readily replied St. George, “and Mrs. James Ashton may have seen me there, for all I know—I did not see her. But she certainly did not see William Brook. Or, if she did, I didn’t.”

“Gregory West saw you and him in your gig together later, when you were leaving Worcester,” continued Ellin. “It was at the top of Red Hill.”

St. George shook his head. “The person I had in my gig was a stranger. Had Gregory West come up one minute earlier he would have seen me take the man into it.”

“William has come,” persisted Ellin.

“I don’t say he has not,” returned St. George. “All I can say is that I did not know he had come and that I have not seen him.”

Who was right, and who was wrong? Any faces more hopelessly puzzled than the two old gentlemen’s were, as they listened to these contradictory assertions, I’d not wish to see. Nothing came of the interview; nothing but fresh mystification. Ellin declared William Brook had arrived, had been driven out of Worcester for Timberdale in St. George’s gig. We felt equally certain we had passed them in Dip Lane, sitting together in the gig; but St. George denied it in toto, affirming that the person with him was a stranger.

And perhaps it may be as well if I here say a word about the routes. Evesham lay fifteen miles from Worcester; Timberdale not much more than half that distance, in a somewhat different direction, and on a different road. In going to Timberdale, if when about half-way there you quitted the high-road for by-ways you would come to Dip Lane. Traversing nearly the length of the lane, you would then come to a by-way leading from it on the other side, which would bring you on the direct road to Evesham, still far off. Failing to take this by-way leading to Evesham, you would presently quit the lane, and by dint of more by-ways would gain again the high-road and soon come to Timberdale. This is the route that Mr. St. George took that night.

We went home from Mr. Delorane’s, hopelessly mystified, the Squire rubbing up his hair the wrong way; now blowing us both up for what he called our “fancies” in supposing we saw William Brook, and now veering round to the opposite opinion that we and Ellin must be alike correct in saying Brook had come.

Ellin’s account was this: she passed a pleasant morning with Mary West, who was nearly always more or less of an invalid. At half-past one o’clock dinner was served; Philip West, his younger brother Gregory, who had recently joined him, and Mr. St. George coming in from the office to partake of it. Dinner over, they left the room, having no time to linger. In fact, Gregory rose from table before he had well finished. Mary West inquired what his haste was, and he replied that he was off to Spetchley; some one had been taken ill there and wanted a will made. It was Philip who ought to have gone, who had been sent for; but Philip had an hour or two’s business yet to do with Mr. St. George. Mrs. West told St. George that she would have tea ready at five o’clock, that he might drink a cup before starting for home.

Later on in the afternoon, when Ellin and Mrs. West were sitting over the fire, talking of things past and present, and listening to the howling of the wind, growing more furious every hour, James Ashton’s wife came in, all excitement. Her husband, in medical practice at Worcester, was the brother of Robert Ashton of Timberdale. A very nice young woman was Marianne Ashton, but given to an excited manner. Taking no notice of Mrs. West, she flew to Ellin and began dancing round her like a demented Red Indian squaw.

“What will you give me for my news, Ellin?”

“Now, Marianne!” remonstrated Mrs. West. “Do be sensible, if you can.”

“Be quiet, Mary: I am sensible. Your runaway lover is come, Ellin; quite safely.”

They saw by her manner, heard by her earnest tone, that it was true. William Brook had indeed come, was then in the town. Throwing off her bonnet, and remarking that she meant to remain for tea, Mrs. James Ashton sat down to tell her story soberly.

“You must know that I had to go up to the Shrub Hill Station this afternoon,” began she, “to meet the Birmingham train. We expected Patty Silvester in by it; and James has been since a most unearthly hour this morning with some cross-grained patient, who must needs go and be ill at the wrong time. I went up in the brougham, and had hardly reached the platform when the train came in. There was a good deal of confusion; there always is, you know; passengers getting out and getting in. I ran about looking for Patty, and found she had not come: taken fright at the weather, I suppose. As the train cleared off, I saw a figure that seemed familiar to me; it was William Brook; and I gave a glad cry that you might have heard on the top of St. Andrew’s spire. He was crossing the line with others who had alighted, a small black-leather travelling-bag in his hand. I was about to run over after him, when a porter stopped me, saying a stray engine was on the point of coming up, to take on the Malvern train. So, all I could do was to stand there, hoping he would turn his head and see me. Well: just as he reached the opposite platform, Mr. St. George stepped out of the station-master’s office, and I can tell you there was some shaking of hands between the two. There’s my story.”

“And where is he now?”

“Oh, they are somewhere together, I suppose; on their way here perhaps,” rejoined Mrs. James Ashton carelessly. “I lost sight of them: that ridiculous stray engine the man spoke of puffed up at the minute, and stopped right in front of me. When it puffed on again, leaving the way clear, both he and St. George had vanished. So I got into the brougham to bring you the news in advance, lest the sudden sight of William the deserter should cause a fainting-fit.”

Ellin, unable to control herself, burst into glad tears of relief. “You don’t know what a strain it has been,” she said. And she sat listening for his step on the stairs. But William Brook did not come.

At five o’clock punctually the tea was brought in, and waited for some little time on the table. Presently Mr. West appeared. When they told him he was late, he replied that he had lingered in the office expecting Mr. St. George. St. George had left him some time before to go to the Shrub Hill Station, having business to see to there, and had promised to be back by tea-time. However, he was not back yet. Mr. West was very glad to hear of the arrival of William Brook, and supposed St. George was then with him.

Before the tea was quite over, Gregory West got back from Spetchley. He told them that he had met St. George just outside the town, and that he had a gentleman in his gig. He, Gregory West, who was in his brother’s gig, pulled up to ask St. George whether he was not going home earlier than he had said. Yes, somewhat, St. George called back, without stopping: when he had seen what sort of a night it was going to be, he thought it best to be off as soon as he could.

“Of course it was William Brook that he had with him, Gregory!” exclaimed Mary West, forgetting that her brother-in-law had never seen William Brook.

“I cannot tell,” was the only answer the young lawyer could give. “It was a stranger to me: he wore a lightish-coloured over-coat and a white comforter.”

“That’s he,” said Mrs. James Ashton. “And he had on new tan-coloured kid gloves: I noticed them. I think St. George might have brought him here, in spite of the roughness of the night. He is jealous, Ellin.”