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CHAPTER XII

MARRYAT walked quickly to the village--she had Kate's little parcel in her pocket. She was a prim, smart-looking, well-set-up young woman of about eight-and-twenty. The villagers admired her very much. She had coal-black hair and flashing black eyes and a high colour in her cheeks. Her teeth were white and her lips red. The villagers considered her a rare beauty. Marryat knew, however, the value of never giving herself away. She treated the other servants at the Grange and the few people she happened to know in the village with the highest scorn. She was therefore regarded with considerable awe by her fellow-servants and by any acquaintance she happened to have in the place. She never allowed liberties to be taken with her; she knew her position too well for that. As she walked quickly now, with her red lips slightly pursed up and her shining black eyes staring straight before her, her brain was very busy. Kate was right; Marryat had good brains, and 'cute ones.

"I must do this thing as carefully as I can," she said to herself. "But what's afoot I'd like to know. I wouldn't split on my young mistress, not for worlds. Why, she's a mine of gold to me; I'll make my fortune if this sort of thing goes on. But I should like to know what it means just for my own sake. I could have got another fiver out of her if I had | | 111 pressed it just now. But lor! I don't want to be 'ard on the poor young lady. That she has got a secret is plain. Now, what is it, that's what I want to know. I guessed she had a secret when she sent me in that queer way to Sir John Orme's house. I have guessed that something weighed on her mind often and often since then; but to-day has thrown daylight on much. If that secret hasn't something to do with Mrs. Mildmay--Mrs. Mildmay who lives in the south of France--and that man Rogers--coarse sort of person is Rogers--my name's not Jeannette Marryat. What have these two people to do with our beautiful young lady--our heiress? That's what I, Jeannette Marryat, have got to find out."

She presently reached the Swan, and saw with a smile of satisfaction that the object of her visit was pacing up and down in front of the bar smoking a short briar pipe.

The moment Merriman saw Marryat coming, he took his pipe out of his mouth and surveyed her critically. Merriman considered himself a connoisseur of female loveliness, and Marryat was quite to his taste.

"Good-morning," said the maid. She passed the man without stopping, but as she did so she glanced behind her, and he guessed that she had given him an unspoken invitation to follow her across the little green. He did so at a respectful distance. The geese were cackling on the green, as is the immemorial custom of geese since greens were first made. There was the usual pond in the middle with children playing by its side, there were paper boats on the pond, and many of these were struggling to avoid a watery grave. There were also two or | | 112 three mongrel dogs, and one of them barked as Marryat passed by. She found herself quickly at the other side of the green, and saw, just to her right, a shady and also lonely road. She entered the road; the man with the short briar pipe followed her at a distance of about fifty yards. Marryat walked a little way down the road, then she sat under a tree where a convenient bench had been placed, closed her sunshade, and began to mop her somewhat heated face.

The man approached, and, as naturally as possible, took the opposite side of the bench. Marryat glanced in his direction, and he glanced in hers. The man looked to the right and the woman to the left; there was not a soul in view.

"Well," said the man then; "you've come from the young lady. What's the message?"

Marryat did not reply at once; then she looked the man all over from head to foot. He was dusty and tired, his clothes were shabby, his face was slightly flushed, for he had just been indulging in a copious draught of beer. Marryat's high colour had already slightly faded. She looked exquisitely neat, her dress was perfect, and there was not a hair out of place on her shining head. On Marryat's smooth brow lingered no anxiety. She felt that she had the key of the situation, and did not intend to give it away sooner than she could help.

"I don't know what you mean by staring at me like that," said the man. "I have asked you a civil question, miss."

"Eh?" said Marryat. She looked at him again, steadily, as if she had not heard him speak before. The man flushed up angrily.

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"You know perfectly well that you heard what I said," he remarked. "I will repeat it. I want to know if the young lady, Miss--Miss Bouverie, who is to be married to-morrow, has sent me a message?"

"And why should you suppose," said Marryat, surveying him scornfully, "that the young lady, Miss Bouverie, who is to be married to-morrow, should trouble herself to send a message to the sort of person you are?"

"That's neither here nor there," answered Merriman, who now looked decidedly angry. "Has she sent me a message, or has she not?"

"Suppose she has not?" said Marryat, drawing a bow at a venture. To her intense satisfaction the arrow shot home. The man jumped up, came in front of her, bent forward, and said in a low voice--

"Then Mr. Hume shall see me, and--"

"Yes," continued Marryat, raising her sparkling eyes, and fixing them on his face; "this sounds most interesting. And when Mr. Hume has seen you, what will happen then?"

"Ah!"

"Shall I tell you what will happen then?"

The man did not reply; his thick lips were slightly parted.

"He'll order you off the premises pretty quick."

"What do you bet that he don't?"

"I never bet; I consider it ungenteel," said Marryat. She tossed her head as she spoke. The man looked at her again, then he sat down near her.

"Look here, my good girl--" he said.

"I'm not your good girl, and I won't have it said to me," answered Marryat, starting away in extreme disgust.

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"But what does this mean? Has the young lady sent me a message? There, I guess she has."

"I will tell you about that when I know more," said Marryat. "If you want things from me you won't get them without payment."

"Payment! Now, what do you mean?"

"You have a hold over my young lady?"

"I--a hold over her?" said Merriman. He was a very astute person, and he knew well that the moment he shared his secret--even the tenth part of his secret--with another, he would lessen its value to himself. He therefore warily turned aside from Marryat's question and said--

"I am an old friend."

"Oh, indeed; that seems rather queer. You don't look the sort that my young lady would make friends with."

"That's all you know."

"Have you been in the h'East, may I ask?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Why this. If you're an old friend of Miss Bouverie's you must have lived in the h'East. Miss Bouverie has been out of England in the h'East for the last twelve years of her life."

"Oh," said the man, with a flash of intense merriment in his eyes. "That's a good 'un--that's a rare good 'un." He laughed loud and long. Some people were seen walking down the road.

"I will wish you good-evening now," said Marryat, rising. "I am rested, and am going on with my walk."

She stepped forward, but the man followed her quickly.

"What is it you want me to tell you?" he said.

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"You've got a message for me, I know, and I must have it."

"I have a message--I don't deny it," replied the maid, "and I'll give it for--a consideration."

"What's that, may I ask?"

"That you supply me with the exact address of the woman who is called Mrs. Mildmay."

"And why should I give you Mrs. Mildmay's address?"

"If you want the message which my young lady has sent you, you will do so. It ain't a bit important to me that you should have it, but if you want it I must have something in exchange."

"You can't have that."

"Nothing else will suit me. There! you had better be quick about making up your mind, for I have got to hurry back to the Grange. There's all the young lady's packing to do. It will be a grand wedding to-morrow, the grandest ever seen in these parts. And the bride! Oh, there never was such a lovely bride before!"

"Look here," said the man; "I see you're as sharp as a needle, and I admire you for it. You're a very fine young woman, let me tell you. If you give me a five-pound note you shall have the address you want."

"I won't give you that," said Marryat. "I'm no such fool. But I tell you what I'll do; I'll make you a present of two sovereigns. I have got my purse here with two sovereigns in it, and you can have them both if you'll give me the address."

"But you'll promise faithfully not to make any wrong use of it?" said the man.

"What wrong could I do in having the address | | 116 of a lonely lady for whom my young mistress has a kindness?"

"To be sure," said Merriman. He stood still and reflected. He did not want to give Mrs. Mildmay's address, but he did want those two sovereigns badly. Two sovereigns meant forty shillings, or eighty sixpences. How many mugs of beer would that money purchase? At the present moment, he had only one-and-sixpence in the world. Kate might or might not have sent him money. She had positively refused to do so when he had spoken to her, telling him that she had none. If she gave him what he expected, namely, some article of jewellery, he would have to wait a little time before he could turn it into money. But the sovereigns!--the sovereigns could minister to his temporal needs at once. He could have all that he required--a good meal, a comfortable bed, what were to him the luxuries of life--if he gave Mrs. Mildmay's address to Marryat; and what possible harm could she do with it?

A moment later Marryat had taken out her purse and transferred the two sovereigns to the man's greedy palm. A moment later also the little box containing the diamond pin was in his possession.

The man now walked rapidly from the village, and Marryat returned to the Grange.