The lawyer, who had taken up his position before the fire with his hands under the tails of his frock coat, turned to look at her. The bitterness of the tone startled him. "What do you mean?"

"Mean!" echoed Mrs. Gilroy, with a vindictive glitter in her pale eyes. "That Sir Simon promised me five hundred a year for life."

"Oh, you must be mistaken," said Durham, quickly. "He never said you were to have more than one hundred."

"He might not to you, but he did to me," said the housekeeper, doggedly. "I have a right to five hundred."

"I think not," said the lawyer, calmly. "And let me tell you, Mrs. Gilroy, that Sir Simon did not place your name at all in the second will. Had it been executed, you would not have had even the one hundred you despise. Therefore, you may congratulate yourself" – he watched her face while speaking – "that Sir Simon changed his mind about disinheriting his grandson."

The woman's eyes glittered still more maliciously and a color rose in her bloodless cheeks. "Oh!" she said, with icy disdain, "so Sir Simon would have deprived me of my rights, would he? It's lucky he's dead, or he'd find himself on the wrong side of the hedge with me."

"Ah!" Durham resumed his seat and waited to hear what would come forth. And something would come out not easily attainable at other times, for Mrs. Gilroy was apparently losing her temper. This was most extraordinary for her, as she was usually cautious. But since the death of her master, who had kept her in check, she seemed to be a much more reckless woman. The lawyer had always wondered what bond held Sir Simon and the housekeeper together, and now there seemed some likelihood that he would learn, if he held his tongue and allowed full play to that of Mrs. Gilroy.

"I knew how it would be," she muttered. "I guessed he would play me false. He never was worth a kekaubi."

"You are a gipsy," said Durham, looking up.

"What makes you say that?"

"Kekaubi is Romany for kettle. You wouldn't use it unless – "

"Who I am is nothing to you," interrupted Mrs. Gilroy, sharply.

"Yet you don't resemble the Romany!" said Durham, looking at her drab appearance. "Your eyes are pale and your hair – "

"Let my appearance be, Mr. Durham. I am here for justice, not to hear my looks discussed. Sir Simon left me one hundred a year. I want you as the executor of the estate to make it the five hundred he promised me."

"I don't know that he promised you that sum," said the solicitor, "and even if he did I cannot give it to you. The money now belongs to Sir Bernard Gore."

"He is supposed to be dead."

"You put it rightly," replied the man. "He is supposed to be dead, but until his dead body is found I will administer the estate on his behalf. But I have no power to help you."

Mrs. Gilroy seemed struck by this view of the case. "Suppose Sir Bernard isn't dead?" she asked.

Durham felt a qualm and suppressed a start with difficulty. Had this dangerous woman discovered the fugitive at Cove Castle. "Do you know if he is alive?" asked Durham, quietly looking at her.

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Gilroy, who seemed to be thinking. Then she rose. "I don't know that I need bother you further," she said.

"Will you tell me why you demand this money?"

"Because Sir Simon promised it to me."

"On what grounds."

"On very good grounds."

"Will you tell me what they are?"

"Will you give me the five hundred a year if I do?" she countered.

"That is out of my power. When Sir Bernard appears I will speak to him on the subject if your claim is a good one."

"My claim is an excellent one," she burst out, raising herself to her full height. "It is the claim of a wronged woman!" She paused. "I want to ask you about the will," she said. "Is it worded that the money is left 'to my grandson.'"

"To my grandson Bernard Gore."

"The name is mentioned."

"It is. The money is clearly left to Sir Bernard."

"Sir Bernard," she sneered. "Why give him a title to which he has no claim? The money may be his, else I would not tell you what I now do tell you. My son is the baronet – my son Michael."

Durham stared at her, quite taken aback. "What on earth are you talking about, Mrs. Gilroy?" he demanded.

"Mrs. Gilroy," she echoed with scorn. "I shall no longer use a false name. I am Mrs. Walter Gore."

"Impossible. Walter Gore was married to Bianca Tolomeo!"

"He was married to me first," said Mrs. Gilroy, rapidly. "Yes, you may stare, but I am the lawful wife of Walter Gore and my son Michael is the heir. He is the image of his father. There's no trickery about the matter."

"The image of his father," cried Durham, a sudden light breaking in upon him. "And Walter Gore was tall, slim, the image of his son Bernard. Mrs. Gore, or Mrs. Gilroy, or whatever you call yourself, was it your son who murdered his grandfather?"

The woman became livid. "No, I swear he didn't. He is in America."

"He is in England, and he masqueraded as Bernard when courting Jane the housemaid," said Durham, excitedly. "You say yourself he resembled Walter Gore. Bernard is exactly like his father, so Michael must resemble him sufficiently to pass as him."

"It is absolutely false!" cried Mrs. Gilroy, seeing she had fallen into the trap of her own words. "My son is in America. You shall not prove him guilty. I opened the door to Bernard."

"To Michael. You perhaps mistook him for Bernard."

"A mother can't mistake her own son. But Michael is the heir. I shall write to America and bring him home. I can prove my marriage with Walter Gore."

"Do so by all means," said Durham, recovering his wits. "I am acting for Sir Bernard, and he shall not lose the title if I can help it. I see you are playing a deep game, Mrs. Gilroy, but you have let out too much. I shall now search for Michael, your son, and see if he was not in London on the night of the twenty-third of October."

Mrs. Gilroy, pale and looking like a tigress at bay, drew back to the door without a word. Before Durham knew of her intention she opened it and slipped away. He did not seek to detain her.

CHAPTER XII
THE NEW PAGE

Things went very smoothly at Gore Hall after Durham had established Lucy as its mistress during the absence of Bernard. The girl herself firmly believed that her cousin was dead and assumed deep mourning. She had been fond of Bernard in a sisterly way, and felt his loss deeply. It was her outspoken affection that provoked a quarrel between her and Julius, and which led to the breaking of their engagement. Lucy had a high temper, which had been kept in subjection during the life of Sir Simon. But now that she tasted the sweets of power she was not disposed to allow Julius to treat her as he chose.

Mrs. Gilroy came back from her visit to the lawyer in rather a dejected frame of mind. She saw that she had gone too far and had given Durham an inkling as to the possibility of Michael having masqueraded as Bernard. The housekeeper had thought her position unassailable, knowing that she had married Walter Gore; and although there was a flaw in the circumstances upon which she built her claim, yet she trusted to her own cleverness to conceal this from the too-clever lawyer. But, apart from this, the fact that he suspected someone of passing himself off as Bernard startled her, and opened an abyss at her feet. On leaving the office she judged it best to lower her crest for the moment and to wait patiently to see what would transpire. Mrs. Gilroy was a well-educated woman and very astute, therefore she hoped to gain her ends by craft if not by force. So far she had failed, but she did not intend to abandon her claim for one failure.

As it was, she came back to the Hall and behaved herself much better than she had ever done before. She was respectful to Lucy, and did not display her impatience of commands that she had hitherto done. No one could have been meeker, and although Miss Randolph did not like or trust the woman, she had no fault to find with her in any way.

Lucy suffered severely from the shock of Sir Simon's tragic death, and from the supposed death of Sir Bernard. In fact, the matter so preyed on her nerves that she became prostrate, and Dr. Payne had to be called in. He was a handsome and popular young doctor who had practiced in Hurseton. As this was the first time he had been called to the Hall, he was naturally very pleased, and was very attentive.

"A complete rest is what you need," he said to Miss Randolph. "I think you should keep to your bed as much as possible, and I will give you a tonic. Naturally you suffer from the terrible circumstances of Sir Simon's death." He thought a moment and then continued, "A cheerful companion would do you good. Shall I ask Miss Malleson to come over."

"Is she cheerful?" asked Lucy languidly. "I fear not, doctor. She was engaged to my cousin, and his death has made her sad."

"Probably, but she bears up wonderfully. But that she is in mourning one would hardly guess she had sustained such a loss. Was she very much attached to Mr. Gore?"

"Yes. I never saw a more attached couple. Did you ever meet him?"

"Once at Miss Plantagenet's. You know I am great friends with the old lady. I often visit her, not professionally, for she is as healthy as a trout in a pond."

"Is Alice – Miss Malleson also well?"

"In very good health, and appears resigned to her loss."

"I should have thought she would have felt it more," said Lucy, perplexed. "Alice has such a tender heart."

Dr. Payne was doubtful. So far as he saw, Miss Malleson was remarkably cheerful under her sorrow. "She is philosophic, Miss Randolph, and that is wise. I think, however, if you would have her over to see you, it would do both her and yourself good."

"I shall write a note to her to-day," said Lucy. "I am very fond of her, and we get on very well together. Poor Alice. I wish Bernard had lived, so that he could have married her."

"From what I read in the papers it is just as well Mr. Gore did not live," said Payne, rising to take his leave. "If he was guilty – "

"Ah!" said Lucy, raising herself with animation from the sofa upon which she was lying. "If he was guilty. There it is, doctor. I do not believe he was. Bernard had a high temper, but he could not always control it, and was a kind-hearted boy. He is innocent I am sure."

"How are you sure, my dear Lucy?" asked a third voice, and she looked up to see Julius standing in the doorway. He came forward. "Forgive me if I heard a few words of your conversation. But I have just come in. Dr. Payne, I hope I see you well."

"Quite well," said the doctor, who did not like Beryl, thinking him, in schoolboy phrase, "a sneak." "I am just going, Mr. Beryl."

"Are you ill, Lucy?" asked Beryl, with affection.

"I have an attack of nerves," she replied pettishly. "Poor Bernard's death has shaken me."

"It is just as well he did die, though."

"I have been saying that," said Payne; "but I must take my leave. I will come and see you again, Miss Randolph, and remember what I told you. Rest and cheerful company – Miss Malleson's for choice."

He departed smiling, and they heard him gallop off. When the sound of the horse's hoofs died away, Julius, who was looking out of the window, turned abruptly to Lucy. "Why do you think Bernard is innocent?" he asked.

"Because, if he is guilty, his action gives the lie to his whole life, Julius," she replied, raising herself on her elbow. "I can't believe he killed my uncle."

"Sir Simon is not your uncle," said Beryl, jealously. "You are only a distant relative."

"Perhaps my marriage with you may make me a nearer one."

"If we ever do marry," said Julius, gloomily.

"So far as I am concerned I should like to break the engagement, Julius. We were never suited to one another."

Beryl's vanity was hurt. "Why did you accept me then?"

"What else could I do? It was Sir Simon's wish that we should marry, and, owing to my circumstances, I had no choice in the matter. During his life I was merely a puppet. But you do not care for me."

"I do. I swear I do."

"Although you swore for an hour, I should never believe you. There is only one thing in this world you love, Julius, and that is money. You told Sir Simon about Bernard being in love with Alice, that the poor boy might be disinherited."

Beryl did not deny the charge. "I believe you are in love with Bernard yourself," he said.

"No. Bernard and I are like brother and sister. But he is dead, so you need not cast stones at his memory."

"Are you sure he is dead?" asked Beryl, warming his hands.

Lucy sat up on the sofa and pushed the loose hair back from her forehead. "Why do you say that?" she asked sharply.

Julius stared at the fire. "I can't understand Durham's attitude," he said evasively. "He must know that Bernard is dead, seeing that the coat and hat were found on the banks of the river. No man could have lived in the cold and the fog. Yet if Durham was sure he would not hold the estate against Bernard's coming."

"Mr. Durham requires proof of the death," rejoined Lucy, sharply; "and until then, he is bound to administer the estate according to the will. As Bernard's body has not been found, there is always a chance that he may have escaped."

"I sincerely trust not."

"Ah! You always hated Bernard."

"On the contrary, I speak for his good. What's the use of his coming to life when he must suffer for his crime?"

"I don't believe he committed it," said Lucy, doggedly.

"You have no grounds for saying that," said Julius, pale with rage.

"I don't need grounds," retorted the genuine woman. "Bernard always was as kind-hearted as you were – and are, the reverse."

"I am not hard-hearted," snapped Beryl. "I always do good – "

"When it is to your own benefit."

"Not always. For instance, I am down here to get a small boy a post with Miss Plantagenet as a page."

"That is very good of you," said Lucy, scornfully.

"Ah, you see I can do a kind action. This boy is a grandson of Lord Conniston's housekeeper, Mrs. Moon."

"At Cove Castle," said Lucy, with some color in her face. "I know."

"Do you know Lord Conniston?" asked Julius suspiciously.

"I have met him once. He seems to be a most delightful fellow."

"What a delightful speech for a lady," said Beryl. "Conniston is a scamp. I heard he enlisted in the Lancers."

"It shows how brave he is. Every man worth calling a man should go to the front."

"Perhaps you would like me to go," sneered Julius.

"You would never have the pluck," said Lucy, quickly. "All your ends in life are gained by cunning, not by bravery."

"Lucy, if you talk to me like that – " began Beryl, and then restrained himself with an effort. "It is no use our quarrelling. Let me show you that I am not so careless of others or so hard-hearted as I seem to be. Miss Plantagenet wants a page. I found this lad in London selling matches. He was a messenger boy at a tobacconist called Taberley, and Lord Conniston got him turned out of the situation."

"I don't believe that."

"It is true. The boy told me himself. He will tell you if you like to see him."

"I don't want to see him. Lord Conniston is too kind a man to behave in that way. He was fond of Bernard."

"And that makes him perfect in your eyes," said Beryl, looking savage. "See here, Lucy, Conniston has left the army – so you see he is not so brave as you think."

"He left so as to seek after Bernard," said Lucy, quickly. "Mr. Durham told me so."

"To seek after Bernard," said Julius, slowly, "and I believe Bernard may be alive after all."

"In which case you would give him up to the police."

"No," said Julius with an emotion which did him credit, "I should never betray him. Lucy, if you can find out from Lord Conniston or Durham that Bernard is alive, let me know and I'll see what I can do to help him."

"How can you help him when you believe him guilty?"

"I might help him to escape. I don't want to see him hanged."

"He won't be hanged if Lord Conniston and Mr. Durham can save him."

"Ah!" Julius started to his feet. "Then he is alive."

"I can't say. I have no reason to think he is. But I am hoping against hope," said Lucy, rising. "I merely state what was said. Mr. Durham and Lord Conniston both told Alice that Bernard was innocent."

"They will find it difficult to prove that," sneered Beryl, with a white face. "I believe the fellow is alive after all. If he is I'll make it my business to find out where he is."

"And then?" asked Lucy, starting up and facing Beryl.

"Then it depends upon Bernard himself."

"Ah! You would make him pay money to save himself."

"I have a right to a portion of the estate."

"You have not," said Miss Randolph, clenching her fists and all her languor gone. "Bernard is the owner of Gore Hall and of all the property, and of the title also. If he is alive, as I sincerely hope, his name will be cleared."

"And then you will throw me over and try to become Lady Gore."

"I throw you over now," said Lucy, losing her temper and coloring hotly. "How dare you speak to me like this, Julius! I will no longer be bound to you. I never loved you, but I have always tried to see the best side of you. But you have no good side. You are a mean, cowardly serpent, and if Bernard is alive I shall do my best to defend him from your snares."

"But Lucy – "

"Don't speak to me, and don't dare to call me again by that name. I give you back your ring – here it is!" She wrenched it from her finger. "Now leave the house, Mr. Beryl. I am mistress here."

Julius looked at the ring which she had thrown at his feet, and laughed. "You take a high tone," he said sneeringly. "But remember that if Bernard is dead the money goes to charities – "

"So much the better. You do not get it."

"Nor you either. You will have to turn out of this luxurious home and live on the pittance Sir Simon left you."

"Would I be better off if I married you?"

"I think you would. I have not much money now, but I will have some – a great deal some day."

"By blackmailing Bernard," said Lucy, indignantly.

Julius picked up the ring and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket calmly. "We don't know that Bernard is alive. But the fact of Conniston leaving the army and from Durham's attitude I shrewdly suspect he is, and in hiding. I shall find out where he is, and then it depends upon him whether he is hanged or prefers to live abroad on a portion of his money."

"The lesser portion. I know the price of your silence," said Lucy, vehemently. "You will want the Hall and a large income."

"All I can get," rejoined Beryl, quietly. "And you have refused to share my fortune with me."

"Yes. I will have nothing to do with you. And remember that if I catch you plotting I will tell Mr. Durham."

"You can tell him the whole of this conversation," snarled Beryl. "I am not afraid of Durham. If Bernard is alive, he'll have to pay up or be hanged."

"He is innocent."

Julius shrugged his shoulders and walked to the door. There he paused to utter a final insulting speech. "I don't know whether you intend to marry Bernard or Lord Conniston," he said, "but I wish, which ever it is, joy of a spitfire."

"And an honest woman," said Miss Randolph, wrathfully, for the reference to Conniston touched her nearly; "but you go too fast. You can't yet prove that Bernard lives."

"I go to do so," sneered Julius, and bowed himself ironically out of the room, leaving Lucy furious both with him and with herself.

She was angry with herself because she felt that in speaking of Conniston she had colored. And as a matter of fact she greatly admired the young lord, even though they had only met once, for Conniston was one of those irresistible men who appeal to women. Lucy thought – but it matters little what she thought. All she knew was that her engagement to Julius, which had always weighed on her conscience, was at an end. "I am free now – free," she said, stretching her hands. "Oh, what an escape I have had from that wicked man. He has shown his hand too plainly. I will put Mr. Durham on his guard, and" – here she blushed – "and Lord Conniston."

Julius, walking towards the Bower, was also angry with himself. As Lucy thought, he had shown his hand too clearly. "It would have been better," he considered, "to have held my tongue. I should have done so had she not goaded me into speech. She will tell Durham and that interfering Conniston and put them on their guard. Well" – he laughed and looked at the small boy trotting beside him – "I am equal to both."

The boy was a handsome, innocent-looking little fellow, rather undersized. With his clear skin, his fair hair and wide blue eyes he looked like the conventional picture of a cherub. No one would have suspected that such a childish creature was a born criminal. But his mind had not yet had time to work on his face, and the mask of his childhood – for he was only thirteen – concealed his evil nature successfully. In a few years, when his passions worked their way through the mask, his face, now so smooth and innocent, would be wrinkled and sinful. His mind would have marked plainly its signet on the smooth surface. But at present he looked charmingly innocent, although he already knew much more about life than was good for him. Julius, in order that the lad might make an impression on Miss Plantagenet, had dressed him in a new suit, and pleased with himself – for much of the boy remained in this precocious criminal – young Jerry trotted along smiling.

"Jerry," said Beryl, looking down, "mind you are nice to the old lady."

Jerry tossed his fair curls and looked roguish. "Oh, that's all right, Mr. Beryl. All old ladies take to me. They think I'm a kind of Holy Bill, and I let them think so. It pays."

"Jerry, you are a young scamp of the worst."

The boy chuckled as though he had received a compliment. "I like doing things," he explained frankly; "it's fun. When I was with old grandmother at the castle I hated doing nothing. If it hadn't been for Victoria – the girl I told you about – I should have left long before. I'm going to marry her."

"You know nothing about such things," corrected the respectable Mr. Beryl, severely.

"I know a jolly sight more than you think," said the urchin under his breath and producing a cigarette.

Julius took it from him. "Miss Plantagenet must not think you smoke, Jerry. She is most respectable."

"And dull," said Jerry, putting his hands in his pockets. "Lord! what a bore stopping with her will be. But I can nip over and see Victoria when I like."

"And keep an eye on Lord Conniston as I told you."

"I'm fly," said Master Moon, and began whistling.

Julius looked at him with satisfaction. He intended that the boy should remain in the neighborhood so as to keep watch on Conniston – whom since he left the army so unexpectedly he suspected – on Durham, and on Alice Malleson. For this last reason he was introducing him into the house. If Bernard were alive – as Julius began to suspect – he would come to one of these three people, and then Jerry would at once become aware of the fact. Then it would remain with Bernard whether to be hanged or to surrender a large portion of the property which Beryl thought rightfully belonged to him. How he came to this conclusion it is difficult to say.

Miss Berengaria was as usual in the garden looking after the well-being of some white chrysanthemums. She raised her head when she saw her visitors, and a look of annoyance crossed her face when she saw Mr. Beryl. Notwithstanding Durham's advice, she found it difficult to keep her natural dislike of the young man in abeyance, and but for the sake of Alice she would have refused to let him enter the Bower. As it was, and with great diplomacy – so great that it deceived even the astute Beryl – she asked him to come into the house. Luckily Alice was out of the way, having gone to pay a visit. But she was expected back momentarily, and Miss Berengaria wished to get rid of Julius before the girl returned. She might be able to conceal her real feelings, but Alice being so young and impulsive might show her dislike too plainly and put Beryl on his guard.

"Who is this you have here?" asked Miss Plantagenet, putting on her spectacles and surveying Jerry with admiration. "What a pretty lad!"

"He is a lad I wish you to help," said Beryl, blandly. "Last time we met, Miss Plantagenet, you mentioned that you wanted a page."

"Not exactly a page," said the old dame, rubbing her nose, a sure sign she was perplexed. "Merely a boy to see after the fowls, and to wait about the house when necessary."

"I love fowls," said Jerry sweetly, and looking as innocent as a babe, "and dogs and things like that."

"You seem a nice lad. Who is he, Mr. Beryl?"

"A poor boy who sold matches in London."

"But I didn't always," piped Jerry, shifting from one leg to the other in feigned embarrassment, and playing his part perfectly. "I lived with grandmother at Cove Castle."

"That's Lord Conniston's place," said Miss Berengaria, more perplexed than ever. "What were you doing there?"

"I lived with grandmother. My name is Jerry Moon."

"Oh! And how did you come to be selling matches?"

"His lordship got me a situation at a tobacconist's," said the child-like Moon, "and then he got me turned off."

"Why? That is not like Lord Conniston."

"You had better not ask the reason," interposed Julius; "it is not to Lord Conniston's credit."

"But I must know the reason," said the old dame, sharply, "if you want me to take the lad into my service."

Jerry in answer to a look of Beryl's began to weep ostentatiously.

"I saw his lordship dressed as a soldier," he snuffled, "and I told Mr. Beryl. His lordship was so angry that he got me turned off, saying I was ungrateful."

"You should always hold your tongue," said Miss Berengaria, angrily. "You had no right to tell what Lord Conniston wished kept secret. It was only a freak on his part. He left the army at my request."

"At your request?" said Julius, looking at her directly.

Forearmed as she was, Miss Berengaria, with the consciousness of Bernard's secret, flushed through her withered skin. However, she did not lower her eyes but turned the conversation defiantly. "Let us keep to the matter in hand. Do you want to enter my service?"

"Yes, sweet lady."

"Don't talk like that, child. Call me ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am," said Jerry, submissively. "Mr. Beryl – such a kind gentleman, ma'am – said you would help me."

"I will so long as you are honest."

Jerry thrust his tongue in his cheek, but Julius answered, "I can vouch for his honesty," he said. "But he talks too much."

"He must hold his tongue here," said the old dame, severely, and shaking her trowel at the boy. "Where are his clothes?"

"I have none but what's on," cried Jerry. "The kind gentleman got them for me, ma'am."

"You are a better Christian than I thought," said Miss Berengaria, looking at Beryl. "Well, you can stay here, boy. Go to the kitchen and tell the servants to give you something to eat."

Jerry grinned, and ducked towards the door. "Good-bye, Jerry," said Beryl, kindly. "Don't forget me."

"If I do may I be – oh no, kind lady – I mean, ma'am – I won't swear. I never did, having been to Sunday school. Yes, ma'am, I'm going," and Jerry in answer to an imperative wave of his new mistress's hand disappeared. Miss Berengaria turned to Beryl.

"He certainly has a long tongue," she said severely. "I must see that he doesn't swear or smoke or indulge in any of those wicked things. I hope he will do your recommendation credit, Mr. Beryl."

"I hope he will," said Julius, and felt a strong inclination to thrust his tongue in his cheek also. Then he took his leave and the old lady watched him go.

"What is this for?" she asked herself, and went inside to write a report to Durham.