CHAPTER L

THE THIRD FIRE

The light poured into the room like a flood, yellow as sunlight, and more intense in brilliancy. Kitty standing at the table had her face in shadow. Pasco opposite was as a mass of gold. The fire glittered in his eyeballs, it flashed in the new heavy gold watch-chain that he had purchased in Exeter.

“Now’now I shall be believed. Now’now the world will know how falsely I have been judged. Now’now is revealed what a viper I have nu’ssed at my hearth.”

“We had best go and put out the fire,” said Noah, and he went to the door, to see that no possibility existed of arresting the flames. The rick was all but enveloped as in a blazing sheet that was drawing round it to meet at the only side which was dark. Little wind blew, so that the flame poured up in one tongue.

Voices could be heard, loud shouts in the village, where the conflagration had attracted attention, and had broken up the session of the orchestra. The bassoon was braying a loud note, prolonged and hideous, to rouse such as were behind curtains, and did not observe the glare.

“How did this come about?” asked Rose, catching Kate by the arm.

“I’I cannot say. I cannot say,” answered the girl addressed; “but, indeed, I am not guilty.”

“Is it insured?” asked Noah.

“No, it is not insured,” answered Pasco triumphantly. “I hope now you won’t go and say _I_ did it’and that I did it to get money out of a company.”

Except the words recorded, nothing further was spoken. The little party was too dismayed at the occurrence, and at the prospect of what must spring from it, to stir, to speak. It was in vain to think of doing aught to the rick. No outbuilding was endangered. An attempt to tear down the stack would result in spreading the fire.

Then in at the door burst the constable.

“Halloo! what is the meaning of this?” he shouted. “Insured again?”

“I am not insured,” answered Pepperill. “If you want to arrest the culprit’there she is.”

“How came this about?” asked Pooke. “I’m not going to arrest nobody without a cause.”

“There is cause enough,” said Pasco. “Kitty is the person who has set fire to my rick. I have plenty of evidence for that. And now that I have, you’ll all see I’m innocent’white as driven snow.”

“What is the meaning of this?” asked the constable, turning Kitty about that the blaze might illumine her face. In the yellow glare it could be seen that she was deathlike in complexion, and that her eyes were wide distended in terror. She trembled, and seemed unable to stand without the support of the table.

“I’ll tell you all,” said Pasco majestically, “and then, perhaps, Mr. Pooke, you’ll believe my word in preference to that of such as she.”

“What is it?” asked Pooke. “I’ll not arrest nobody without good cause shown, as satisfies my judgment. I said so before.”

“Look at that lantern,” said Pasco.

“Well, I sees it.”

“Open it. There’s no candle in it’is there? But there was’a quarter of an hour ago.”

Numerous voices were now audible around the burning rick. The constable looked out, and hesitated whether to go forth and ensure order without, or to hear what had to be said within.

He saw that there was not much chance of further mischief, the intensity of the fire kept everyone at a distance.

“Go on,” said he. “What have you to say against the girl?”

“She was in the kitchen with Jane Redmore. And Jane Redmore asked her to go along with she on her way home, wi’ a lantern, because of the pitch darkness. Was it not so, Zerah?”

“I can’t say. I wasn’t in the kitchen,” answered Mrs. Pepperill reluctantly.

“Was it as he says?” asked the constable, turning to Kate.

“Yes.” Then suddenly, she woke out of a condition of almost stupefaction; and throwing herself on her knees before her uncle, she entreated, “Do not say that I did it!”

“I leave that to the magistrate, when he tries, and commits you to prison.”

“No, no, you will not send me there!”

“I shall certainly have you tried and punished.”

“Uncle! I beseech you! Let me speak to you alone. I did not do it. I must have a word with you, where no one can see, no one can hear.”

“Indeed, I shall not consent. You want to induce me not to prosecute. I know what you will say. I know how you will appeal to my feelings. You know well enough what a lovin’ and tender and feelin’ heart I’ve always shown. But this won’t do. It won’t do. I’ve borne the slights and the slanders because o’ the last fire, and folk cried out again’ me’I did it for the insurance; and now’now I hope I’ll make all believe I’m not the guilty party. They must look elsewhere. Take her in charge as an incendiary, constable. Do your duty.”

“Uncle! I beseech you! For my sake, for your own, go no further in this.”

“I must proceed, if only to clear myself.”

“Uncle!” In her anxiety she held him. “You do not know my reasons. I pray you, I pray you on behalf of me and dear aunt, as well as yourself’some terrible thing will happen otherwise!”

“I’ll look to that’that no more terrible things happen. Now, constable, she’s threatenin’ to burn the house down over my head, to burn me and my missus in our beds. You heard her. You all heard her threaten us. I call you to witness.”

“I will do no harm to anyone. I entreat a word, a word in private,” urged Kate.

“I’ll have no word in private,” said Pepperill. “What you have to say, say out; lies, lies all it will be,” he added.

“I cannot say it before all. I must speak it in your ear.”

“I won’t listen to nothing,” said Pepperill.

“And I,” said Pooke, “I won’t allow of no tamperin’ wi’ justice, no persuadin’ not to prosecute. We’ve had enough of these little games here. This is the third fire, and we’ll have someone punished for this if I can manage it.”

“You do not know what you are doing, uncle,” gasped Kitty, staggering to her feet.

“I reckon I know pretty well,” he answered coldly.

“You do not. You will bitterly, bitterly rue it. Do not rush on what must happen, and then tear yourself in grief and dismay that you did not listen to me.”

“Listen how she threatens. Tell’e what, Mr. Pooke, there’ll be no safety for none i’ the parish so long as she’s at large. Silence, Kitty! Neither the constable nor I will hear another word but what concerns this fire, and what will serve to convict you.”

“Did you go with the lantern all along wi’ Jane Redmore?” asked Pooke.

Kate recovered her composure, and, with a despairing action of the hands, dashed the tears from her eyes.

“Answer me,” said Pooke; “no prevarication.”

“I went out with Jane.”

“Did you accompany her home?”

“No, only a little way.”

“How far?”

“To the gate.”

“What! not into the lane even?”

“No.”

“How long was she absent?” asked Pooke.

“Long enough for me to draw up a document,” said Pepperill. “What should you say, Zerah? Half an hour?”

Zerah was in no condition to answer.

“And why did you not go on with Jane Redmore?” asked the constable of Kitty.

“Because’I cannot say.”

“Oh, you cannot say? Mind, what you speak now may be used again’ you at your trial. I’m bound to tell you that, and you ain’t obliged to answer. Nevertheless, if you can give a reasonable account of yourself, I’m not called on to think you guilty, and arrest you. What was you a-doing of yourself all that half an hour, when you wasn’t with Jane Redmore, a-seeing of her home?”

He paused for an answer, and received none.

“Am I to understand you won’t say? You ain’t forced to do so, you know.”

“I had rather not say,” replied Kate in a low voice.

“I suppose there was a candle in the lantern when you went out?”

“Yes.”

“Was it burnt out?” Pooke looked into the socket in the lantern. “No,” he said; “it has illicitly been removed. There is no guttering of grease. How do you account for that?”

Kate made no answer.

“We know very well how your rick was fired,” said Pepperill. “It seems to me, Mr. Pooke, that mine was set alight to in much the same way.”

“How do you account for the candle being gone?” asked the constable.

Again no answer.

“Now, look here,” said he. “You’re a little maid, and I don’t want to deal hard with you. If you can give me an explanation of your conduct as will satisfy, why, I’ll not proceed to extremities. But I must say that things look ugly. If you was innocent, you could say so.”

“I am innocent.”

“Then how came the rick to be fired?”

Kate made no reply. She was trembling, and nervously plucking at her light shawl, tearing away and unravelling the fringe.

“You alone had the lantern. It wasn’t Mrs. Redmore now’eh?’or her husband?”

“Oh no, no!” replied Kate eagerly. “She had nothing to do with it. She had gone away along the lane, some time before”’She halted.

“Oh! you know how the fire arose?”

Kate gave no reply.

“I’m afraid it’s a bad case, and I must do my duty, and convey you to the lock-up.”

“Oh, aunt!” cried the girl, turning towards Zerah, who stood cowed, speechless, in the background. “Oh, aunt! let me speak with you alone.”

“No! it is of no use,” said Pasco, stepping between the girl and his wife. “Nothin’ that she can say to Zerah will avail, and certainly nothin’ that Zerah can say will persuade me. Remove her at once.”

The constable laid his hand on Kate’s shoulder.

“One question more. Mind, I caution you not to answer unless you choose. If Mrs. Redmore was not with you, she had gone on. Were you alone, Kitty, in the stackyard after she left; and how was it you were there so long? Say, was there anyone with you?”

“Aunt, let me speak to you!” in a despairing cry.

Zerah made a movement towards her niece, but Pepperill intercepted her, and, catching her by the shoulders, rudely thrust her back. “You shall not speak with her.” Then, turning his head, with a coarse laugh, “So, someone with her! The schoolmaster, I suppose. She had given him up, and was inclined to take him on again. Women change like weathercocks.”

“Mr. Bramber was not there,” said Kate, a flush mantling her brow.

“Then who was it?”

Dead silence.

“Come, Kate Quarm, with me. I must do my duty,” said the constable.

“Stay!” said the rector, who had entered unperceived. “Trust her with me. I solemnly promise that I will keep her secure. Let her go with me to the parsonage, and do not, in pity, take the frightened, innocent child”’

“Innocent?” in a mocking tone from Pasco.

“Innocent child,” repeated the rector, with his eye on Pepperill, who dropped his at once. “Mr. Pooke, rely on me to produce her when you require. In pity, do not frighten her; she may be able easily to clear herself. That she is innocent, I stake my word. Trust her to me.”

The constable hesitated. The lock-up was in a bad condition. It had not been occupied for years, and had been turned into a poultry-house.

“Come, Kitty,” said the rector. “I have made myself answerable for you. And I am proud to do so.”