British Murder Mysteries: J. S. Fletcher Edition (40+ Titles in One Volume). J. S. Fletcher

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СКАЧАТЬ the uplands, and this Rhoda took, and followed with swift steps. Having made up her mind on the question which—in spite of her silence upon it during her conversation with the old minister—had been agitating it all day, she was resolved on a plan of action, and she went with firmness and resolution to its first beginnings.

      The great stretch of flat land on which the Lime-pits Farm stood like some giant ship in the midst of an otherwise lonely sea, was silent almost to oppression as Rhoda passed across it in the dusky night. Long before she reached it she saw the gaunt farmstead outlined against the stars. Something in its vast solidity, its bulky mass of house and outhouse, barn and granary gave her a curious sense of power, wealth, security—it seemed to typify Taffendale and his money. And as she drew nearer the sense deepened, for opposite the farm lay the famous limepits, from which the bulk of that money was drawn, and from the burning pits a dull glow of fiery red was rising to the night. She stood for a moment between the two sources of wealth which were in this one man's control, and she felt the glow of the burning pits play over her face, and caught the pungent odour of the lime in her nostrils. Then, with a quick catching of her breath she turned boldly to the farmhouse and knocked firmly at its door.

Chapter IV

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      Taffendale, always a man of action, and supremely interested in his numerous affairs, had been out and about during the whole of a long day. From an early hour of the morning until close upon noon he had been busied with the demands made upon him by his farm and his lime quarry; after dinner he had galloped into the market-town to attend the weekly auction sale, and had subsequently gone to a special meeting of the Board of Guardians; on his return home he had had his correspondence to deal with; his early supper over, he had given two hours to his account books. And when Rhoda's knock sounded at his door, he had just put on his slippers, lighted his pipe, mixed himself a glass of whisky-and-water, and was about to spend a quiet hour over the newspaper before going to bed. That last hour at night, he was accustomed to say, was the only one he ever really got to himself.

      The sound of the firm, decisive knock, reverberating through the stone-walled passages of the big house, caused Taffendale to take his pipe out of his mouth and to look vaguely around him. His farmstead was so isolated in the midst of the lonely land, so far away from any other habitation and from the nearest high-road, that it was a rare thing for any person to come there at any time except by invitation or on business; that any one should call there at such a late hour of the night was something quite out of the common. He sat for a moment wondering if he had heard aright; then he remembered that his housekeeper and servants always went to bed at nine o'clock, and that there was no one to answer this unusual summons. With the unwillingness of a man who dislikes disturbance all the more because its cause is unknown to him, Taffendale slowly raised himself out of his chair and went down the hall to open the front door. In the light of the swinging lamp he recognised Rhoda Perris. The rustic porch in which she stood made a sort of setting and frame around her; behind her the red glow of the burning lime-kilns, across the garden and the road, conspired with the deep blue of the night to form a background to her figure and to the warm tint of her hair. Taffendale felt himself start at the unexpected sight of her.

      "Mrs.—Mrs. Perris?" he said questioningly.

      "Good evening, Mr. Taffendale," she replied in tones which were curiously suggestive of timidity and yet of assurance. "You'll excuse me for calling at a time like this, but can I have a word with you?"

      Taffendale stood aside and motioned her to enter.

      "Come in—come in!" he said. "Yes—yes; certainly, Mrs. Perris."

      Closing the door, he led the way back to his sitting-room, wondering greatly what had brought Perris's wife there. No reason for her visit suggested itself to him; he was still speculating about it in a vague, indefinite fashion when he led her into the room and pushed forward the easy-chair from which he had just risen. And as Rhoda took it he plunged his hands deep into the pockets of the riding-breeches in which he had been going about all day, and had been too busy to take off before his supper, according to his usual practice, and stood looking down at her with the doubtful expression of a puzzled man. As he looked, the consciousness of the woman's attractive and compelling femininity forced itself upon him; he felt, rather than saw, the healthy glow of her cheeks, reddened by the rush of the wind across the uplands over which she had walked, and the clearness of her grey eyes and the warmth of her hair, and something stirred within himself and troubled him. He withdrew one hand from a pocket and rubbed his chin as if in perplexity.

      "It's—it's rather cold to-night," he said suddenly. "It—it turns cold of a night. Will you take anything, Mrs. Perris?"

      He glanced at the spirit-case which stood on the table, and he made a move towards it with the zest of a man who finds relief from embarrassment in action.

      Rhoda raised her head and shook it.

      "Oh, no, thanking you kindly, Mr. Taffendale," she hastened to say. "I never touch spirits."

      "A glass of wine, then," said Taffendale. "Come—a glass of port won't do you any harm. And if you're afraid of drinking it without eating, there's a cake somewhere. My housekeeper's gone to bed, but I know there's always a plum-cake at hand."

      He had turned to a sideboard as he spoke, and had begun fumbling about in one of its recesses. Rhoda made no answer to this second invitation except to murmur something inarticulate which might be taken as acquiescent; she sat in front of the blazing fire, instinctively appreciative of its warmth and cheeriness. And Taffendale's back being now turned, she glanced round about her with swift comprehension of the details of her host's surroundings. She was quick to notice the comfort and even luxury upon which she had entered out of the night; her woman's eyes realised the significance of the fine old furniture, the thick carpet, the silver and glass on the sideboard, the family portraits on the walls, the books and papers, the little evidences of the possession of money in plenty. And as swiftly as she took all this in, she visualised with equal swiftness her recollection of her own house-place at Cherry-trees—poverty-stricken, cheerless, and Abel Perris, unkempt, toil-stained, sitting, hands crossed on stomach, and heavy with sleep, before a dying fire in a badly-polished grate.

      "Aye, here it is," said Taffendale, turning to the table and setting upon it a plum-cake which stood in a silver basket. "My housekeeper prides herself on her cakes, Mrs. Perris. Now you'll take a glass of port—it'll do you no harm after your walk."

      Rhoda let him help her without further demur on her part; it was a long time since anybody had offered her hospitality, or waited upon her. She crumbled a piece of the cake and sipped at the red wine, and Taffendale, feeling less embarrassed, drank off his whisky and mixed himself another glass. He was still wondering why the woman had come to see him, but no explanation of her presence suggested itself to him.

      "How's that man of yours?" he asked suddenly. "Any the worse?"

      Rhoda shook her head.

      "No, he's no worse, Mr. Taffendale, thank you," she answered. "He's done his work to-day." Taffendale laughed gently.

      "I should think Pippany Webster's day's work isn't worth much," he said. "He was always a shammocking sort." Rhoda nodded.

      "He isn't worth what little he gets," she answered. "But—"

      She paused suddenly and looked up from the plate on her knee to gaze with resolute steadiness at her host, who had taken a chair on the other side of the hearth, and had re-lighted the pipe which he had laid down on her entrance.

      "Mr. Taffendale," she said, "you're wondering СКАЧАТЬ