In the Roar of the Sea/Chapter 41
CHAPTER XLI.
A DEAD-LOCK.
The incident of the jewellery of Lady Knighton occasioned much talk. On the evening of the ball it occupied the whole conversation, as the sole topic on which tongues could run and brains work. I say tongues run and brains work and not brains work and tongues run, for the former is the natural order in chatter. It was a subject that was thrashed by a hundred tongues of the dancers. Then it was turned over and rethrashed. Then it was winnowed. The chaff of the tale was blown into the kitchens and servants' halls, it drifted into tap-rooms, where the coachmen and grooms congregated and drank; and there it was rethrashed and rewinnowed.
On the day following the ball, the jewels were returned to Lady Knighton, with a courteous letter from Captain Coppinger, to say that he had obtained them through the well-known Willy Mann, a pedlar who did commissions for the neighborhood, who travelled from Exeter along the south coast of Devon and Cornwall, and returned along the north coast of both counties.
Everyone had made use of this fellow to do commissions, and trustworthy he had always proved. That was not a time when there was a parcels' post, and few could afford the time and the money to run at every requirement to the great cities, where were important shops when they required what could not be obtained in small country towns. He had been employed to match silks, to choose carpets, to bring medicines, to select jewellery, to convey love-letters.
But Willy Mann had, unfortunately, died a month ago, having fallen off a wagon and broken his neck.
Consequently it was not possible to follow up any further the traces of the diamond butterflies. Willy Mann, as was well known, had been a vehicle for conveying sundry valuables from ladies who had lost money at cards, and wanted to recoup by parting with bracelets and brooches. That he may have received stolen foods and valuables obtained from wrecks was also probable.
So, after all the thrashing and winnowing, folks were no wiser than before, and no nearer the solution of the mystery. Some thought that Coppinger was guilty, others thought not, and others maintained a neutral position. Some again thought one thing one day and the opposite the next, and some always agreed with the last speaker's views. Whereas others again always took a contrary opinion to those who discussed the matter with them.
Moreover, the matter went through a course much like a fever. It blazed out, was furious, then died away; languor ensued—and it gave symptoms of disappearing.
The general mistrust against Coppinger was deepened, certainly, and the men who had wine and spirits and tobacco through him, resolved to have wine and spirits and tobacco from him, but nothing more. They would deal with him as a trader, and not acknowledge him as their social fellow. The ladies pitied Judith, they professed their respect for her; but as beds are made so must they be lain on, and as is cooked so must be eaten. She had married a man whom all mistrusted, and must suffer accordingly; one who is associated with an infected patient is certain to be shunned as much as the patient. Such is the way of the world, and we cannot alter it, as the making of that way has not been intrusted to us. On the day following the ball, Judith did not appear at Polzeath, nor again on the day after that.
Oliver became restless. The cheerful humor, the merry mood that his father had professed were his, had deserted him. He could not endure the thought that one so innocent, so child-like as Judith, should have her fortunes linked to those of a man of whom he knew the worst. He could not, indeed, swear to his identity with the man on the wreck who had attempted to rob the passengers, and who had fought with him. He had no doubt whatever in his own mind that his adversary and assailant had been Coppinger, but he was led to this identification by nothing more tangible than the allusion made to Wyvill's death, and a certain tone of voice which he believed he recognized. The evidence was insufficient to convict him, of that Oliver was well aware. He was confident, moreover, that Coppinger was the man who had taken the jewels from Lady Knighton; but here again he was wholly unsupported by any sound basis of fact on which his conviction could maintain itself.
Toward Coppinger he felt an implacable anger, and a keen desire for revenge. He would like to punish him for that assault on the wreck, but chiefly for the wrongs done to Judith. She had no champion, no protector. His father, as he acknowledged to himself, was a broken reed for one to lean on, a man of good intentions, but of a confused mind, of weakness of purpose, and lack of energy. The situation of Judith was a pitiful one, and if she was to be rescued from it, he must rescue her. But when he came to consider the way and means, he found himself beset with difficulties. She was married after a fashion. It was very questionable whether the marriage was legal, but, nevertheless, it was known through the county that a marriage had taken place, Judith had gone to Coppinger's house, and had appeared at the ball as his wife. If he established before the world that the marriage was invalid, what would she do? How would, the world regard her? Was it possible for him to bring Coppinger to justice?
Oliver went about instituting inquiries. He endeavored to trace to their source, the rumors that circulated relative to Coppinger, but always without finding anything on which he could lay hold. It was made plain to him that Captain Cruel was but the head of a great association of men, all involved in illegal practices; men engaged in smuggling, and ready to make their profit of a wreck, when a wreck fell in their way. They hung together like bees. Touch one, and the whole hive swarmed out. They screened one another, were ready to give testimony before magistrates that would exculpate whoever of the gang was accused. They evaded every attempt of the coastguard to catch them; they laughed at the constables and magistrates. Information was passed from one to another with incredible rapidity; they had their spies and their agents along the coast. The magistrates and country gentry, though strongly reprobating wrecking, and bitterly opposed to poaching, were of broad and generous views regarding smuggling, and the preventive officer complained that he did not receive that support from the squirearchy which he expected and had a right to demand.
There were caves along the whole coast, from Land's End to Hartland, and there were, unquestionably, stores of smuggled goods in a vast number of places, centres whence they were distributed. When a vessel engaged in the contraband trade appeared off the coast, and the guard were on the alert in one place, she ran a few miles up or down, signalled to shore, and landed her cargo before the coastguard knew where she was. They were being constantly deceived, by false information, and led away in one direction while the contraband goods were being conveyed ashore in an opposite quarter.
Oliver learned much concerning this during the ensuing few days. He made acquaintance with the officer in command of the nearest station, and resolved to keep a close watch on Coppinger, and to do his utmost to effect his arrest. When Captain Cruel was got out of the way, then something could be done for Judith. An opportunity came in Oliver's way of learning tidings of importance, and that when he least expected it. As already said, he was wont to go about on the cliffs with Jamie, and after Judith ceased to appear at Mr. Menaida's cottage, in his unrest he took Jamie much with him, out of consideration for Judith, who, as he was well aware, would be content to have her brother with him, and kept thereby out of mischief.
On one of these occasions he found the boy lag behind, become uneasy, and at last refuse to go farther. He inquired the reason, and Jamie, in evident alarm, replied that he dare not—he had been forbidden.
"By whom?"
"He said he would throw me over, as he did my doggie, if I came here again."
"Who did?"
"Captain Coppinger."
"But why?"
Jamie was frightened, and looked round.
"I mustn't say," he answered, in a whisper.
"Must not say what, Jamie?"
"I was to let no one know about it."
"About what?"
"I am afraid to say. He would throw me over. I found it out and showed it to Ju. I have never been down there since."
"Captain Coppinger found you somewhere, and forbade your ever going to that place again?"
"Yes," in a faltering voice.
"And threatened to fling you over the cliffs if you did?"
"Yes," again timidly.
Oliver said quietly, "Now run home and leave me here."
"I daren't go by myself. I did not mean to come here."
"Very well. No one has seen you. Let me see, this wall marks the spot. I will go back with you."
Oliver was unusually silent as he walked to Polzeath with Jamie. He was unwilling further to press the boy. He would probably confuse him, by throwing him into a paroxysm of alarm. He had gained sufficient information for his purpose from the few words he let drop. "I have never been down there since," Jamie had said. There was, then, something that Coppinger desired should not be generally known concealed between the point on the cliff where the "new-take" wall ended and the beach immediately beneath.
He took Jamie to his father, and got the old man to give him some setting up of birds to amuse and occupy him, and then returned to the cliff. It did not take him long to discover the entrance to the cave beneath, behind the curtain of slate reef, and as he penetrated this to the farthest point, he was placed in possession of one of the secrets of Coppinger and his band.
He did not tarry there, but returned home another way, musing over what he had learned, and considering what advantage he was to take of it. A very little thought satisfied him that his wisest course was to say nothing about what he had learned, and to await the turns of fortune, and the incautiousness of the smugglers.
From this time, moreover, he discontinued his visits to the coastguard station, which was on the farther side of the estuary of the Camel, and which could not well be crossed without attracting attention. There was no trusting anyone, Oliver felt—the boatman who put him across was very possibly in league with the smugglers, and was a spy on those who were in communication with the officers of the revenue.
Another reason for his cessation of visits was that, on his return to his father's house, after having explored the cave, and the track in the face of the cliff leading to it, he heard that Jamie had been taken away by Coppinger. The Captain had been there during his absence, and had told Mr. Menaida that Judith was distressed at being separated from her brother, and that, as there were reasons which made him desire that she should forego her walks to Polzeath, he, Captain Coppinger, deemed it advisable to bring Jamie back to Pentyre.
Oliver asked himself, when he heard this, with some unease, whether this was due to his having been observed with the boy on the downs near the place from which access to the cave was had. Also, whether the boy would be frightened at the appearance of Captain Cruel so soon after he had approached the forbidden spot, and, in his fear, reveal that he had been there with Oliver and had partially betrayed the secret.
There was another question he was also constrained to ask himself, and it was one that made the color flash into his cheek. What was the particular reason why Captain Coppinger objected to the visits of his wife to Polzeath at that time? Was he jealous? He recalled the flare in his eyes at the ball, when Judith turned to him, held out her hand, and called him by his Christian name.
From this time all communication with Pentyre Glaze was cut off; tidings relative to Judith and Jamie were not to be had. Judith was not seen, Aunt Dionysia rarely, and from her nothing was to be learned. It would hardly comport with discretion for inquiries to be made by Oliver of the servants of the Glaze; but his father, moved by Oliver and by his own anxiety, did venture to go to the house and ask after Judith. He was coldly received by Miss Trevisa, who took the opportunity to insult him by asking if he had come to have his bill settled—there being a small account in his favor for Jamie. She paid him, and sent the old fellow fuming, stamping, even swearing, home, and as ignorant of the condition of Judith as when he went. He had not seen Judith, nor had he met Captain Coppinger. He had caught a glimpse of Jamie in the yard with his donkey, but the moment the boy saw him he dived into the stable, and did not emerge from it till Uncle Zachie was gone.
Then Mr. Menaida, still urged by his son and by his own feelings, incapable of action unless goaded by these double spurs, went to the rectory to ask Mr. Mules if he had seen Judith, and whether anything had been done about the signatures in the register.
Mr. Desiderius was communicative.
He had been to Pentyre about the matter. He was, as he said, "in a stew over it" himself. It was most awkward; he had filled in as much as he could of the register, and all that lacked were the signatures—he might say all but that of the bride and Mr. Menaida, for there had been a scene. Mrs. Coppinger had come down, and, in the presence of the Captain and her aunt, he had expostulated with her, had pointed out to her the awkward position in which it placed himself, the scruple he felt at retaining the fee, when the work was only half done; how, that by appearing at the ball, she had shown to the whole neighborhood that she was the wife of Captain Coppinger, and that, having done this, she might as well append her name to the entry in the register. Then Captain Coppinger and Miss Trevisa had made the requisite entries, but Judith had again calmly, but resolutely, refused.
Mr. Mules admitted there had been a scene. Mr. Coppinger became angry, and used somewhat violent words. But nothing that he himself could say, no representations made by her aunt, no urgency on the part of her husband could move the resolution of Judith, "which was a bit of arrant tomfoolery," said Mr. Desiderius, "and I told her so. Even that—the knowledge that she went down a peg in my estimation—even that did not move her."
"And how was she?" asked Mr. Menaida.
"Obstinate," answered the rector, "obstinate as a—I mean as a donkey, that is the position of affairs. We are at a dead-lock."