Chapter 14

VERNON'S PLOT

Lister occupied the end of a slate-flag bench on the lawn at Carrock, Mrs. Cartwright's house in Rannerdale. Rannerdale slopes to a lake in the North Country, and the old house stands among trees and rocks in a sheltered hollow. The sun shone on its lichened front, where a creeper was going red; in the background birches with silver stems and leaves like showers of gold gleamed against somber firs. Across the lawn and winding road, the tranquil lake reflected bordering woods; and then long mountain slopes that faded from yellow and green to purple closed the view.

While Lister waited for the tea Mrs. Cartwright had given him to cool he felt the charm of house and dale was strong. Perhaps it owed something to the play of soft light and shade, for, as a rule, in Canada all was sharply cut. The English landscape had a strange elusive beauty that gripped one hard, and melted as the fleecy clouds rolled by. When the light came back color and line were as beautiful but not the same.

There was no grass in Canada like the sweep of smooth English turf, and Lister had not thought a house could give the sense of ancient calm one got at Carrock. Since his boyhood he had not known a home; his resting place had been a shack at a noisy construction camp, a room at a crowded cheap hotel, and a berth beside a steamer's rattling engines. Then the shining silver on the tea-table was something new; he marked its beauty of line, and the blue and gold and brown pattern on the delicate china he was almost afraid to touch. In fact, all at Carrock was marked by a strange refinement and quiet charm.

He liked his hosts. Mrs. Cartwright was large, rather fat, and placid, but he felt the house and all it stood for were hers by rightful inheritance. Her son and daughter were not like that. Lister thought they had cultivated their well-bred serenity and by doing so had cultivated out some virile qualities of human nature. Grace Hyslop had beauty, but not much charm; Lister thought her cold, and imagined her prejudices were strong and conventional. Mortimer's talk and manners were colorlessly correct. Lister did not know yet if Hyslop was a prig or not.

Cartwright was frankly puzzling. He looked like a sober country gentleman, and this was not the type Lister had thought to meet. His clothes were fastidiously good, his voice had a level, restrained note, but his eye was like a hawk's, as Vernon had said. Now and then one saw a twinkle of ironical amusement and some of his movements were quick and vigorous. Lister thought Cartwright's blood was red.

Vernon, lounging at the opposite end of the bench, talked about a day Hyslop and he had spent upon the rocks, and rather struck a foreign note. He had not Hyslop's graceful languidness; he looked alert and highly-strung. His thin face was too grave for Carrock and his glance too quick. Lister, listening to his remarks, was surprised to note that Hyslop was a bold mountaineer.

"Oh, well," he said, with a deprecatory smile, when Vernon stopped, "this small group of mountains is all the wild belt we have got, and you like to find a stranger keen about your favorite sport. Then your keenness was flattering. In your country, with its lonely woods and rivers running to the North, you have a field for strenuous sport and adventure."

"The woods pull," Vernon agreed. "All the same, I'm a business man. Betting at the Board of Trade is my proper job and I've got to be satisfied with a week at a fishing camp now and then. Adventure is for the pioneers, lumber men and railroad builders like my friend."

Lister looked up. He did not see why Vernon talked about him.

"My adventures don't count for much," he said. "Sometimes a car went into a muskeg and we had to hustle to dig her out. Sometimes the boys made trouble about their pay. Railroad building is often dull."

"I don't know if we're all modest in Canada, but my partner is," Vernon observed. "If you want a romantic tale, persuade him to tell you how he got the mark on his head."

"Oh shucks!" said Lister. "I had sooner you had cut that out." He turned to the others apologetically. "It was a dispute with a fellow on board a train who threw me down the steps. I don't want to bore you with the tale."

"The man was the famous crook, Shillito," Vernon remarked.

Cartwright lifted his head and looked at Vernon hard. Then he looked at Lister, who felt embarrassed and angry. He saw Grace and Mrs. Cartwright were curious and thought Hyslop's glance got keen.

"If it will not bother Mr. Lister, we would like to hear his narrative," said Cartwright quietly, but Lister got a hint of command.

He narrated his adventure on the train, and although he tried to rob the story of its romance, was surprised when he stopped for a moment. Vernon was carelessly lighting a cigarette, but Lister saw his carelessness was forced. When he got a light he crossed the grass, as if he meant to throw the match over the hedge. Lister thought Cartwright watched Harry with dry amusement. Mrs. Cartwright's look was obviously disturbed, but she had not altogether lost her calm. One felt her calm was part of her, but the Hyslops' was cultivated. Lister imagined it cost them something to use control.

"Go on," said Cartwright, rather sharply.

Lister resumed, but presently Cartwright stopped him.

"You imagined the girl was afraid of Shillito! What were your grounds?"

"She was disturbed and declared she must get off the train. I think she meant to jump off, although we were going fast. Then she asked me if the conductor could be bribed to stop."

"Perhaps we can take it for granted she wanted to get away from somebody. Why did you surmise the man was Shillito?"

"He came through the car afterwards, as if he tried to find the girl, and gave me a keen glance. When he came back I thought him angry and disappointed. By and by I had better grounds for imagining he suspected I had helped her."

Cartwright pondered, but Lister did not think he doubted. It rather looked as if he weighed something carefully. The lines on his face got deeper and his look was thoughtful.

"I understand the girl did not give you her name," he said. "What was she like? How was she dressed?"

Lister was rather surprised to find he could not answer satisfactorily. It was not the girl's physical qualities but her emotions he had marked. He remembered the pluck with which she had struggled against the fear she obviously felt, her impulsive trust when he offered help, and her relief when she got into the locomotive cab. Although he had studied her at Montreal, it was her effort to play a part that impressed him most.

"She was young, and I think attractive," he replied. "She wore a knitted cap and a kind of jersey a girl might use for boating. I thought she came from a summer camp."

Cartwright's face was inscrutable, but Lister saw the others' interest was keen. Mrs. Cartwright's eyes were fixed on him and he got a hint of suspense. Although Grace was very quiet, a touch of color had come to her skin, as if she felt humiliated. Mortimer's pose was stiff and his control over done. Then Cartwright turned to his step-daughter.

"Have you told Jones about the box of plants for Liverpool?"

Grace's look indicated that she did not want to go, but Cartwright's glance was insistent and she got up. Lister looked about and saw Vernon had not come back. He was studying the plants in a border across the lawn. When Grace had gone Cartwright asked:

"Can you remember the evening of the month and the time when you first saw the girl?"

Lister fixed the date and added: "It was nearly ten o'clock. The porter had just gone through the car and when he said my berth was ready I looked at my watch. He went to the next Pullman, and I thought he was getting busy late."

Cartwright nodded and Mortimer glanced at him sharply, but next moment looked imperturbable. Mrs. Cartwright's relief, however, was obvious. Her face had become animated and her hands trembled.

"Thank you," said Cartwright. "Go on."

Lister narrated his putting the girl on board the gravel train and Mrs. Cartwright interrupted.

"Do you know if she had money?"

"She had some. Enough to buy a ticket East."

"It's strange," said Mrs. Cartwright, and then exclaimed: "You mean you gave her some?"

"Oh, well," said Lister awkwardly, "I'd seen her look at her purse and frown, and as I helped her up the locomotive steps I pushed a few bills into her hand. I don't think she knew they were paper money. She was highly-strung and anxious to get off before Shillito came along."

Mrs. Cartwright gave him a look that moved him. Her eyes shone and he knew she was his friend.

"The poor girl was strangely lucky when she met you," she said.

Lister resumed his narrative, but it was plain the climax had passed. The others' interest was now polite, and he went on as fast as possible. He had begun to see a light and wanted to finish and get away. He did not, however, see that while he told his artless tale he had drawn his character. When he stopped Cartwright said:

"Then you did not know her name?"

"I don't know it yet," said Lister, as coolly as he could, but got embarrassed when he saw Cartwright's smile.

"You don't imagine Shillito rejoined her afterwards?"

"No," said Lister firmly, "I think it's impossible. The gravel train was going East, and when the police boarded the cars we had run some distance West." He stopped for a moment, because he saw he was very dull. If his supposition were correct, there was something the others ought to know. "Besides," he resumed, "I met her not long since at Montreal."

"At Montreal!" Mrs. Cartwright exclaimed.

"At a shop where they sold _souvenirs_," Lister replied. "I didn't expect to meet her; I went in to buy some enameled things. It was a pretty good shop and the hotel clerk declared the people were all right. She knew me and we went to a tea-room. She left me at the door, and I think that's all."

He got up. "I don't know if I have bored you, but I felt you wanted me to talk. Now I must get off, and I want to see Harry before I go."

"Mr. Vernon does not seem to be about," Cartwright remarked with some dryness. "I'll go to the gate with you."

Mrs. Cartwright gave Lister her hand and her glance was very kind. "You will come back? So long as you stop here I hope you will feel our house is open to you."

Hyslop got up, but Cartwright stopped him with a sign. He was quiet while they crossed the lawn, but when they reached the wood by the road he said, "I imagine you know we owe you much. After a time, your efforts to use some tact were rather obvious. Well, the girl you helped is my step-daughter."

"At the beginning, I did not know this," Lister declared.

"It was plain," said Cartwright, "Well, I agree with her mother--Barbara was very lucky when she met you, but since you look embarrassed, we'll let this go. Did she repay your loan?"

"She wanted to pay me," said Lister. "I refused."

"Why?" Cartwright asked, looking at him hard.

Lister hesitated, "For one thing, I didn't know the sum. Then I knew her wages were not high. You ought to see I couldn't take the money."

"You ought to have taken the money, for the girl's sake."

"Oh," said Lister, "I think she knew I didn't refuse because I wanted her to feel she owed me something."

"It's possible she did know," said Cartwright dryly. "You must try to remember the sum when you come again. Now I want the name of the shop at Montreal."

Lister told him and added: "You mean to write to Miss Hyslop?"

Cartwright smiled. "I'm going across as soon as possible to bring my step-daughter home."