Chapter VI

MR. FISHER attended Overlord Church on the following morning, and had no difficulty in recognising Norman and myself. The likeness between us betrayed the relationship, and he guessed that the third occupant of the pew must be Stephen. In his face, too, Mr. Fisher saw a reflection of an old friend's. He knew afterwards that Sir Vernon Hastings, Stephen's eldest brother, and he were old friends and had been schoolfellows.

Norman's face had an anxious expression that morning which neither Lucy nor I could account for.

Stephen was in the secret, for he had informed my brother as the two men were strolling in the park together that a warrant for his arrest was certain to be issued. They had agreed to say nothing to Lucy or myself until the secret could be kept no longer.

"No use to give them needless anxiety. If the worst comes they will know soon enough, without meeting trouble on the way," said Norman and Stephen assented.

But who can keep a secret in a village where events are few and eyes and ears always open? Norman and Stephen might keep their counsel; but, in spite of their reticence, a rumour got abroad that the young squire was going to be tried for his life for breaking open the mail-bag.

As I was preparing for dinner on Sunday afternoon, I was struck by the combined dolefulness and mystery observable in my attendant's manner. An inquiry on my part brought a burst of tears from Ellen.

"Are you ill, or have you been quarrelling With Tom?" I asked; for the girl, a pretty, modest creature, was engaged to a farmer's son in the neighbourhood.

"Oh dear no, Miss Berty. We never quarrel, and I am quite well."

"Then tell me what is amiss. You have only to, speak, if I can do anything to remove the trouble."

"It is nothing about myself, miss. It is the young squire."

"My brother!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? He was well an hour ago. What has happened since then?"

Glancing towards the mirror, I caught a glimpse, of my face, from which every trace of colour had fled, and Ellen, frightened at the effect of her words, said—

"You must not be alarmed, miss. Mr. Savell is all right in himself, only it is the trouble about the mail-bag that is on all our minds. They do say in the kitchen that it is a hanging matter for anybody, if he was a duke, to break the seal of one. Anyway, we all know that the squire is to be brought before the magistrates, and tried for it to-morrow morning."

"Nonsense, Ellen! People are not hanged for trifles nowadays. As to trying my brother, you may be sure he knows nothing about it, or I should have heard also. There was a little dispute with Frith at the station, but Mr. Savell made all right, and there the matter ended. You are a good, tender-hearted girl; but there is nothing to grieve about, or I should be crying too," said I, smiling at my little maid.

"But, ma'am—Miss Berty, I know for a fact that Frith wrote to the Queen, or somebody very great, and a gentleman was sent from London to have the young master tried. And Parks saw a policeman from town show a paper to the squire, and then the two walked away together."

"You are wrong, Ellen. My brother would have told me, were there any ground for such a report."

"Indeed I am not mistaken," said Ellen. "I wish I were. The London gentleman was at church this morning; you must have seen him yourself, Miss Berty."

"There was a stranger, a fine, tall man, and he sat—"

"In Tom's father's pew," interposed Ellen, eagerly, and forgetting her good manners. "He is staying at The Arms, and Frith has been backwards and forwards to see him there. Frith is cut up enough that he will have to give evidence against the squire, though he was vexed with him at first. But, dear, dear! There goes the five minutes' bell, and you are not ready for dinner."

My attendant had almost suspended operations during the conversation, for though her tongue went fast enough her hands were idle, and I was a too deeply interested listener to notice the lapse of time.

I hastened to make up for lost minutes, and went downstairs with a troubled face, and little appetite for the coming meal.

A glance at Norman's face confirmed my fears as to the truth of what I had heard. He was evidently ill at ease, and though Stephen tried hard to keep up a cheerful conversation, he failed ignominiously. He could not feel indifferent as to the result of Norman's escapade, or ignore my brother's evident depression.

When the servants had left the room, Norman made an excuse for his dulness. "I have a stupid headache," he began; but I interrupted him.

"Heartache, you mean, Norman. Why did you try to hide it, dear, instead of letting Lucy and me share your troubles, whether small or great? It is useless to try and keep secrets in a place like this. The whole village is in a state of excitement about your coming 'trial.' And though it is not quite a 'hanging matter,' as reported, it is serious enough to cloud my dear brother's brow and make him anxious."

My allusion to the "extreme penalty of the law" did good service by giving a ludicrous aspect to the affair, and both Norman and Steve burst into a hearty laugh.

"No, Berty, they surely do not think your brother will pay for his fault with his life! That is quite too ridiculous," said Stephen, wiping mirthful moisture from his eyes. Another prolonged laugh followed, and I was glad that I had repeated Ellen's absurd tale, since it had chased the cloud from Norman's brow for the moment. When he could speak, he told me all.

"I only wished to save you and Lucy from over-anxiety," he said. "You know, dear, I have perfect confidence in you both."

"Not enough to understand that there is truer kindness in letting us share the trouble of those we love than in hiding it, Norman," I replied, as I stood with my arm round his neck, and his bonnie curly head resting on my shoulder.

Then we three resolutely strove to put aside our gloomy forebodings, and to talk as if doubts and fears were strangers to our minds. If we had peeped just then into the housekeeper's room, we should have seen the good dame and my waiting-damsel mingling their tears as they sipped their tea together.

The elder woman was bemoaning Mr. Norman's rashness, which had brought disaster and shame on King's Court.

"And only ten days off Christmas! What a contrast it will be this year to old happy Christmases which I have spent here, seeing I came a girl in the time of Mr. Norman's grandfather! Mourning instead of feasting and making everybody happy. To think I should live to see it!"

The sound of that burst of laughter from the dining-room reached the tea-drinkers, but did not prove infectious. The housekeeper shook her head and moaned audibly, whilst Ellen remarked that it quite made her shudder to hear it. It was like a person laughing with a rope round his neck!

The justices' room at Greystone was crowded on the Monday morning, and there was a full attendance of magistrates. Everybody wanted "to hear Squire Savell tried," but, owing to want of space, only a few were gratified.

The case was stated. The lawyer for the Crown expatiated on the gravity of the offence. Frith's evidence was taken, and confirmed by one or two other very reluctant witnesses. There could be no doubt that the squire had committed the offence with which he was charged.

But Frith had to submit to cross-examination, and managed to say that he believed Mr. Savell had no idea of the risk he was incurring, as he had been permitted to open the bags by his own predecessor in office, Mr. Joynson.

"Was there ever a complaint that letters were lost at Overford?"

"Never in my time, or, I believe, before," said Frith.

"Did you remonstrate with Mr. Savell? And if so, how did he act?"

Frith looked distressed, but replied, "I did speak to him, but he laughed, and before I could interpose, he again opened the bag and took out a letter. I was angry, and spoke sharply, and, being annoyed, I wrote strongly too. I should like to say that I have no doubt my predecessor's remissness encouraged Mr. Savell in the belief that there could be no harm in his opening the bag and taking out his own letters."

I doubt if there was one individual present who wished that Norman might suffer for his fault, beyond a fine or reprimand, and many approving looks were turned on Frith, for it was known that the young squire had set his authority at naught.

Norman refused to employ his lawyer, saying he could tell a plain tale without help. When called on for his defence, he frankly admitted his fault, and repeated his apology to Frith in public.

"I can say nothing in excuse for my offence," he added, "beyond what the principal witness has already suggested—namely, that I had been so long permitted to transgress that I no longer realized that I was transgressing the law. I was in the wrong, however, and must abide the consequences."

"Do you really wish to press this charge?" asked the presiding magistrate of the inspector. "If so, we have no alternative but to commit, and we have ascertained how severe is the penalty the law imposes."

"I have no present alternative," replied Mr. Fisher. "I am here in my official capacity, and must report to my chief. If you remand Mr. Savell until, say, Thursday, I will report progress, make a recommendation, and act according to further instructions."

The magistrate nodded intelligently. There was a brief consultation, at the close of which Norman was remanded. There was a perfect rush of candidates eager "to bail the squire," and soon the audience dispersed, with the conviction that whatever else might result from a second examination, the culprit would not suffer the extreme penalty of the law.

"I have seen that inspector with my eldest brother," said Steve, as he and Norman left the court. "I will hunt him up and find out who he is."

"Not till after Thursday. People would say you were bringing outside influence to bear, were you to claim acquaintance now. We will give no one a handle to lay hold on," said Norman; and Stephen assented.