The Secret of Greylands (6 page)

“Surely it is earlier than you said you would start?”

Gillman flicked his whip carelessly.

“A trifle perhaps; but Mrs Knowles has arrived, and it is well to be in good time—the road to Glastwick is a rough one.”

“It is indeed!” Cynthia agreed, with a rueful recollection of the previous night's joltings.

She climbed into the dog-cart beside him and submitted to have the rug carefully wrapped round her. The road was, as she had surmised the night before, little more than a winding track across the moorland, but the dog-cart was better provided with springs than had been the case with her conveyance of the previous evening, and she was able to admire the wonderful blue haze over the distant hill as she gazed round her at the great gorse-covered expanse.

Gillman could make himself an amusing companion too, she found, and some of the astonishment which she had felt at her cousin's infatuation for him died away as she listened to his stories of foreign travel and life in the other hemisphere. Suddenly he stopped short and pulled up.

“Something wrong with the mare, I am afraid; she is going lame.”

He got out and went round. After lifting up one of the front legs and subjecting the hoof to a close scrutiny he gave vent to a low whistle of consternation.

“The shoe is loose, I must have this seen to or she will never be able to manage the journey back.”

“I am sure she will not,” Cynthia agreed, with conviction.

Gillman looked round in perplexity, then his face lighted up.

“After all, things might be worse; there is a blacksmith's over there on the other side of those rocks; and he will soon be able to put the shoe right, but it may take some time, and we must be within a mile of Glastwick now. I wonder whether you would mind walking on while I go over to the smith's? I shall probably overtake you long before you get to the station, but if I should be delayed will you go on and meet Sybil?”

Cynthia smiled.

“With pleasure,” she said. “The only drawback to the plan is that I should not know her if I saw her.”

“Oh, I do not think that you will have any difficulty,” Gillman went on as he helped her down. “There are not many passengers and I think you will easily recognize Sybil from her likeness to my wife. She is small and fair like all the Hammonds.”

“Oh, well, I will do my best; it will not be very serious if I do speak to the wrong person!” Cynthia said, and laughed. “Then we are to wait till you come, I suppose?”

“Please!” Gillman drew the reins over his arm. “You can't make a mistake in the road; just bear to the right when the path divides, that is all. I will be as quick as I can.”

Cynthia watched him a moment as he led his horse over the rough, uneven ground; then she set off with a quick springy step. Her limbs felt cramped after the drive, and she thoroughly enjoyed the exercise and the exhilaration and the sense of freedom. The novel character of the scenery too engrossed her attention.

She found some strange fascination in its very austerity, in the bare rugged rocks that rose in heavy, irregular masses, in the great firs that stood here and there in solitary grandeur outlined against the clear northern blue of the sky; but after a time she began to think that it was strange that she saw no sign of nearing Glastwick. She felt that she must have walked more than the mile spoken of by Gillman, and it seemed to her that the country grew wilder and less cultivated. She walked a little more slowly, looking behind her to see if the dog-cart was in sight. She was, so far as could be seen, the only living person on the moor, however, and she began to feel nervous and frightened. She was half inclined to turn back, but after pausing and glancing round she told herself that she had probably under-estimated the distance she had walked, and that very soon she would see Glastwick Station before her. So she set off at a good pace once more.

After plodding on, it seemed to her for nearly another hour, she was obliged to stop and confess herself beaten. It was perfectly evident that Gillman had omitted some vital particular, or that she herself had mistaken his directions. She looked round now, in something like despair; to add to her difficulty she was by no means sure that she could find her way back to the spot where she had left Gillman. There were tracks across the moor in several directions, and, though as she had been directed she had borne carefully to the right, looking back all the paths seemed very much alike.

After scanning the landscape for some time she was relieved to see a thin blue column of smoke rising in the distance. She hurried along the path in its direction with all possible speed, and was presently rewarded by seeing before her a small ivy-covered cottage. In the pretty rustic porch an elderly woman sat busied with her needlework. A man was working in the garden.

Cynthia unlatched the gate.

“Could you tell me the nearest way to Glastwick?”

At the sound of her clear tones the man stuck his spade in the ground and looked up.

As he was about to speak the woman in the porch interposed.

“Glastwick? Why, you are a good four miles away, miss; and you look ready to drop now! Dear, dear!”

“Four miles?” Cynthia echoed blankly. “I—I must have been going in the wrong direction altogether! What in the world am I to do now? I do not believe I could walk there, and Mr Gillman will think I am lost and will not know where to come and look for me.”

The woman's face stiffened.

“I beg your pardon, miss. Is it Mr Gillman of Greylands, you mean?”

“Yes, I am staying there,” Cynthia said helplessly. “I was driving into Glastwick with Mr Gillman when the horse fell lame. He sent me on to meet some one at the station while he went to the blacksmith's, and I—well, I suppose I have lost my way.”

The man had been resting one foot on his spade; he turned to her now.

“The blacksmith's on the Quesstrand side that might be. If you had turned to the left where the roads divided, and then kept straight on, you could not have missed Glastwick.”

“To the left?” Cynthia repeated. “Why, I understood Mr Gillman—I mean I am sure he told me the right.”

“That is where the mistake was made.”

Looking at the speaker Cynthia was conscious of a strange feeling of familiarity, yet, glance back as she would, she could not place her memory of those dark, rugged features, those deep-set grey eyes.

“Well,” she said forlornly, “I suppose there is nothing for it but to turn back, then. Probably Mr Gillman will be waiting for me at Glastwick.”

The man took off his tweed cap and apparently gazed with deep interest in the lining. Cynthia glanced at him absently; he had a well-shaped head, she decided, and she liked the kink in his close-cropped dark hair. The voice, too, was deep and pleasant, and both it and his manner were those of a gentleman.

“You are not more than a mile and a half from Greylands itself now,” he went on after a pause. “I fancy the better plan would be to go back and send some one to apprise Mr Gillman of your safety. Probably you would miss him if you tried to go back to Glastwick now.”

Cynthia hesitated.

“I don't know what to do! Yes, perhaps what you suggest is best. I do not believe I am physically capable of a four-miles' walk. If you could tell me the most direct way to Greylands—”

“You keep straight on this path here until you come to the outlaws' Fen, then you turn; but the nearest way is not particularly easy to find. If you will allow me I will walk with you until you can see Greylands in the distance. Then you cannot make a mistake.”

Cynthia looked dubious.

“You are very kind, but I could not think of troubling you.”

“It is no trouble at all,” picking up the spade and straightening himself. “As a matter of fact I have to go that way some time to-day.”

“The young lady looks fair worn-out, though.” The woman had come down the path and stood looking at Cynthia with an unusual amount of interest, or so the girl fancied. “If you could let me get you a cup of tea before you start, miss?”

“Thank you very much, but I must not stay; I am anxious to get back to Greylands as soon as possible. Mr Gillman may be getting alarmed about me. But if I might ask for a glass of water?”

“Or milk?” the woman suggested. She hurried into the cottage, and presently returned with a glass and jug of milk on a tray and an appetizing-looking cake. She cut a generous slice. “Now you will try and eat a bit, miss; it will put some strength into you.”

Cynthia laughed, but the walk had given her a genuine appetite, and she felt very grateful for the refreshment and the rest as she took a seat for a moment in the little porch.

Her hostess looked at her.

“Lady Hannah does not enjoy good health now, I hear, miss?”

“I am afraid not,” Cynthia assented, munching away at her cake.

“Nothing serious, I hope, miss?” There was a sort of subdued eagerness in the tone that grated upon Cynthia; quite evidently, she thought, the curious household at Greylands had excited comment even in this out-of-the-way spot.

“I hope not,” she said gravely in a repressive tone.

At this juncture the man, who had gone into the house, reappeared. He had thrown off the jacket in which he had been working and now wore a Norfolk shooting-coat of the same texture as his knickerbockers and a tweed cap drawn down over his forehead.

Cynthia hastily finished her cake and milk and stood up, ready to start.

“You are very good and if you are sure I am not taking you out of your way—”

“Quite sure,” he remarked laconically.

Cynthia turned to the woman. For a moment she hesitated, wondering whether she ought to offer any payment, but something in the kindly, wrinkled face seemed to forbid the thought, and she held out her hand with pretty friendly courtesy.

“Good-bye, and thank you so much.”

“Good-bye, miss!” The woman paused in obvious embarrassment for a moment, then she went on, speaking in a nervous, jerky fashion: “If you would call again any time you are passing, miss, I should think it kindly. I am often very lonesome; and I haven't got used to these parts yet.”

There was an underlying eagerness beneath the words that made an unpleasant impression upon Cynthia.

“Thank you very much!” she responded, her manner perceptibly colder. “I do not know how long I am staying with my cousin, and I expect during her illness my time will be very much occupied; but it is extremely kind of you to ask me.”

The man held the gate open for her, and, looking at his stalwart broad shoulders and figure, Cynthia was struck anew with that haunting sense of familiarity.

“We are not so far from Greylands as you would imagine,” he said as he joined her. “It lies on the other side of that pinewood.”

A little breeze was rising now; it whistled through the branches of the firs and played around the little curls that peeped from the brim of Cynthia's hat. The girl drew a little breath of relief as they skirted the wood and she caught sight of the chimneys of Greylands in the distance.

Her companion looked at her compassionately.

“You must be tired out; but you will soon be there now, if you can only keep up a little longer.”

“Oh, yes, I shall do very well!” Cynthia asserted bravely as she plodded along at his side.

She was finding that the London-made shoes she was wearing were by no means adapted to the rough moorland walking, and she inwardly resolved to provide herself with some stout country boots as soon as possible.

The man soon accommodated himself to her pace, but as he strolled along by her side he did not seem to be very communicative. For the most part he kept his eyes fixed straight in front of him in a dreamy, contemplative fashion, with his dark level brows drawn together in a frown, as though he were absorbed in some knotty problem. Cynthia wondered who he was and in what relation he stood to the woman in the cottage. He scarcely looked like her son, she fancied; and she began to speculate as to what could be the reason that brought the pair to settle down at that lonely cottage on the moor.

She had not arrived at any probable explanation, when he broke the silence.

“I hope you were not shaken to pieces in that cart yesterday?”

Startled, she looked at him in surprise.

“Why, how did you know?”

The stern lines of his face relaxed as he glanced at her astonished face.

“I was at the station when you arrived.”

“Why, yes!” Cynthia broke into a laugh. “I remember now. You were talking to that station-master? I thought I recollected your face; but I could not recall where I had seen it. It has been puzzling me.”

“Has it?” He gave her a quick glance, which Cynthia, absorbed in her discovery, did not note. “I gathered that you did not expect to find Lady Hannah such an invalid as she apparently is?”

“No, I did not,” Cynthia said honestly. “You see, I had heard from her so short a time before. She asked me to come and see her; she must have written just before—”

“Before?” he repeated, turning to her. There was something compelling in his glance.

“Before her attack,” Cynthia finished. “She is suffering from some sort of paralysis, you know.”

“I did not know.” His tone was one of shocked concern. “When?”

Cynthia suddenly awoke to the fact that she was discussing her cousin's intimate affairs with a perfect stranger.

“I do not know exactly,” she replied coldly. “Oh, there is the gate of Greylands! I can find my way now, quite easily. Please do not let me take you any farther. Thank you very much!”

She stopped and made a half gesture to hold out her hand; the man paused also and looked curiously disconcerted.

“Yes, you cannot mistake the path now,” he said brusquely. “Good afternoon!” And, raising his cap, he turned quickly on his heel.

Cynthia looked after him a moment in some surprise. His abrupt taking her at her word seemed to put her in the wrong; she felt as if she had been guilty of some discourtesy, and her cheeks burned.