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CHAPTER IX
LENISE ELROY

YOU'LL have to hurry," said Hackler impatiently as the seaman slouched round for his boat.

"That's my craft over there; I'll have her alongside in a bit," said the man.

"Can't we take this boat?"

"No, I'll get my own; besides, I'm used to her."

It seemed a long time to Carl before the man brought the boat alongside and he was seated in her.

"Row faster!" said Carl.

"Wait until we're out of the harbor; it's rather dark."

"Go ahead, pull!"

The man obeyed. He was not such a skillful pilot as Brack; as they reached the wall he pulled hard with his right and the boat crashed into the stonework. Carl shot forward, bruising his face; there was a sound of splintering timber; the boatman fell forward. When they recovered, Carl cursed him for a blundering fool. The man found the boat leaked badly; there was nothing for it but to row back as fast as possible and take another.

This caused a delay and enabled Brack to put Hector aboard the Sea-mew and row round by the London Belle in time.

"Who goes there?" shouted Brack.

Carl was sick of the whole business; he was glad to hear Brack's voice. He had been to the London Belle, his story was correct. What a fool he, Carl, had been for his pains!

There was no answer to Brack's hail. Carl said to the man: "Keep on rowing; never mind him."

This did not suit Brack's purpose. He had no desire for Carl to go on board the London Belle; that would upset everything.

Brack went after the boat, quickly overtaking it. By the dim light he saw who was in it.

"You again!" he said with a laugh. "What yer scouring the bay at this time o' night for? Looking for pirates?"

"No, smugglers!" said Carl.

"Hope ye'll catch 'em. Where do they hail from? I thought the days of smuggling in Torbay were over. Better come with me; I'll row you back quicker than him," said Brack.

An altercation ensued between the seamen. Brack had insulted Carl's man; the wordy warfare became furious.

"Row back to the harbor!" shouted Carl in a rage. "And you sheer off or it will be the worse for you."

This was all Brack wished to hear. If Hackler returned, there was no danger.

"Keep cool," shouted Brack. "I reckon I'll be home first."

His mother was sitting up anxiously awaiting the news when he came.

"He's got safe away, but we had a narrow squeak for it," he said, and told her what happened.

"I wish our Bill were on the Sea-mew," she said with a sigh.

"Maybe he will be some day, mother," said Brack.

The Sea-mew forged ahead toward the North and Captain Ben watched at Hector's bedside. The unfortunate man slept heavily but uneasily; he groaned and raved incoherently, tossed from side to side, sometimes in danger of falling out of the berth.

Toward six o'clock Ben sent for Abe Glovey, who came and took his place while he went to meet Picton.

Ben had a difficult task before him. He wished to break the news gently; the shock would be great; then they would have to think what was best to be done.

Picton was out early; he had not slept well; strange dreams caused him uneasiness.

"I've had a restless night. You look as though you had," he said to Ben.

"I have; it has been a strange night. I've something to tell you," and he proceeded to explain about Brack coming to the yacht.

"What on earth did he want at that hour of the night?" said Picton.

"He brought some one to see me."

Picton was surprised.

"Who was it?"

"A man," said Ben. He was not a good hand at this sort of thing; he wanted to blurt it all out in his blunt way.

Picton smiled.

"Don't beat about the bush, Ben; you can't do it."

"That's a fact, I can't. You'll stand a shock, Picton, a very great shock."

"Is it tremendous?"

"Yes," said Ben seriously. "The man Brack brought here last night is aboard now; he's asleep in my cabin; he is very ill; he has suffered a lot; he will require a great deal of care. We shall have to be very careful."

Picton looked at him wonderingly. Gradually a light broke in upon him; he turned pale and felt giddy. Ever since the boom of the gun startled him he had had Hector in his mind.

"Was it Hector who escaped?" he asked.

Ben nodded.

"Was it Hector Brack brought to the Sea-mew?"

Again Ben nodded.

"Let us go to him," said Picton.

Ben wondered at his taking it so calmly, but he knew the strain must be great. They went to Ben's cabin.

"Glovey's inside; I'll send him out," said Ben.

When the man was gone Picton stepped inside and looked at his brother with tears in his eyes.

"What a wreck, Ben; it's awful."

Captain Ben turned away his head. There are some things worse than death to look upon, cause more sorrow and pain.

Hector lay on his back. His face told a tale of misery such as few care to hear, and none to suffer.

"Leave me, Ben; I'd rather bear this alone; I may get used to it in time," said Picton in a hollow voice.

Ben put his hand on the younger man's shoulder for a moment, then went out of the cabin; he never wished to feel again as he felt then, in the whole course of his life. Picton watched Hector, heard his ravings, shuddered at them, and wondered how it were possible for a man to suffer so much and live. He stayed there over two hours, and what his thoughts were during that time no one knew; there was, however, throughout, one predominant resolve: Hector should never go back to Dartmoor. He would sooner see him dead; it would be more merciful. What roused Picton was the thought of the woman who had done this thing; he held her responsible. She was older than Hector, a woman subtle, versed in the wiles of the world, and she had lured him to destruction. If ever a woman should suffer she ought. He wondered how she would feel if she stood where he stood now, looking down at the awful disaster of this man's life. Would she smile? She might; he thought she would; he believed at that moment she was the worst woman he had ever heard of. She must pay the penalty sooner or later; no atonement on her part could wash out that. These thoughts stifled him; he opened the door for fresh air. Ben's cabin was on deck; as the light streamed in Hector awoke. Before Picton realized what had happened his brother sprang from the berth, rushed past him, and had Abe Glovey not caught him round the waist would have flung himself overboard.

With difficulty they carried him, struggling, back to the cabin, and laid him down exhausted.

"He's mad," said Picton.

"Temporarily, but we'll cure all that. I'm a bit of a doctor; leave him to me," said Ben, trying to make the best of it.

"What are we to do?" asked Picton.

"You mean about concealing him?"

"Yes."

Ben said he had taken Abe Glovey into his confidence, and they had decided the whole of the crew should know the facts.

"Will it be safe?" asked Picton.

"I am sure of it; they are all real good fellows, and it is our only chance."

"You must call them together and explain it all," said Picton.

Ben said he would, and went on: "This is the opportunity we have waited for – Hector's escape. How fortunate we came here! Providence had a hand in this, it's more than mere coincidence, and as Providence helps those who help themselves we must lend a hand. When Hector recovers, it will be some weeks; he must remain on the Sea-mew until he becomes a changed man. In twelve months no one will know him who has seen him now; the change will be wonderful, and it will be quite as wonderful a change from what he was before the trial. Hector Woodridge must cease to exist; he is dead; his body was never found on the Moor because he probably fell down some disused mine or was drowned in a still pond. That way safety lies, but there may be one stumbling block."

"What is that?" asked Picton.

"Hector's desire to prove his innocence," said Ben.

"He must be persuaded that will be easier to do if it is thought he is dead; we must try and do it."

"We have tried; there is only one person in the world who can prove his innocence," said Ben.

"Lenise Elroy," said Picton.

"Yes, Lenise Elroy. There were three persons in the room at the time: Raoul Elroy, Lenise Elroy, and Hector," said Ben.

"Hector said at the trial the weapon went off in a struggle," said Picton.

"Lenise Elroy, with apparent reluctance, said Hector shot her husband," said Ben.

"If this were not true, why did she say it?" asked Picton.

"She may have thought it true. Heaven knows what is in the mind of a woman like that! But the truth will come out some day."

"Still, she ought to have shielded him, corroborated his story that it was an accident," said Picton.

"The strangest part of the whole thing is that Hector has not told even you what actually happened," said Ben.

"And I don't believe he will," said Picton.

CHAPTER X
HAVERTON

WHEN the Sea-mew arrived at Bridlington Bay Hector Woodridge lay at death's door, but the fever had somewhat abated and the ravings ceased. He was completely exhausted, worn out, and Picton doubted if he would have strength to struggle back to life.

Captain Ben had seen a good deal of illness and was confident he could pull Hector round in time, but he said it would take many weeks.

What was to be done? Picton could not remain on the Sea-mew; his absence would be noted at Haverton, where Brant Blackett was busy with the horses and expecting his arrival daily.

"Abe Glovey is a good seaman, quite capable of looking after the Sea-mew," said Ben. "There is no reason why she should not remain here for a time; there will be nothing unusual about it. I will stay until Hector is convalescent, or nearly so, and then join you at Haverton. Glovey can take the Sea-mew short cruises; when they are away from the coast Hector can come on deck freely without danger. Leave it all to me; I'll explain to him when he is well enough."

Picton thought this the best thing they could do.

He went ashore at Bridlington and from there traveled to Haverton. He knew he was running a grave risk in having Hector on board his yacht. He cared very little about that; all he wanted was for his brother to get well. He was certain no one would recognize him, he was so changed. It was a long, tedious journey to Haverton, and Picton was glad when it was over, and he was in his own house again.

Mrs. Yeoman, the housekeeper, was surprised not to see Captain Bruce; he was seldom away from Picton. He explained in answer to her question that the Captain had remained on the Sea-mew to see to some repairs in the engineers' department. This only half satisfied her; she knew McTavish was a capable man and could look after repairs himself. She had a very kindly feeling toward Jack McTavish, who sometimes came to Haverton and was not at all averse to a mild flirtation with the buxom, comely widow.

When she saw Blackett she asked him what he thought about it.

"Why hasn't the Captain come with him? It's all moonshine his staying on the Sea-mew to see to repairs in the engine room. Mac's quite good enough for that job," she said.

"It's none of your business, anyway," said Brant; "and as for McTavish, you're prejudiced in his favor – I shouldn't wonder if you aren't Sarah McTavish some day."

"Nonsense, Brant! I've had one dose of married life; I don't want to try it again," she said.

"Give the poor man a chance; he's only one thing against him," said the trainer.

"And pray what's that?" she asked.

"His name."

"Jack McTavish. I reckon it's the equal of Brant Blackett, anyway," she said.

He laughed as he answered: "You're always a bit touchy where the McTavish is concerned. I wish you luck with him, Sarah. We'll see you a Highland chieftainess before many months are passed. I'll put myself in training and dance a reel after the ceremony's over."

"You're old enough to know better, and you ought to have more sense," she snapped, and walked away.

Picton had been at Haverton a week and still Captain Ben did not come. He was anxious, but knew he could do no good if he went to the yacht; he was better away. He rode several of the horses at work to keep himself occupied, and was constantly roaming about the estate. He felt lonely; he missed Ben sadly; he was such excellent company.

Haverton was a large mansion situated in one of the most beautiful districts in Yorkshire. The mansion had an aspect of gentility, and its various forms of architecture made it doubly interesting. The strong tower on the North East dated from Plantagenet times, and was a fine example of those peel towers on the border, of which the most southern are in the north of Yorkshire. The west side was in the Tudor times, showing the domestic architecture of the period. The two towers were commanding features of the fine old mansion. The gardens were lovely old-world places; clipped yews and flower beds intermingled on the south terrace The entrance was imposing and the gates were always open, as though the visitors were expected; the hospitality of Haverton was proverbial, even in such a county as Yorkshire.

Picton was very proud of the old mansion, which had been in the possession of the Woodridges for many generations. He loved the glorious park with its magnificent trees, and undulating stretches of land. Oaks of great age, with their knotted arms outstretched, studded the landscape in all directions. There was a large lake, a mile long, half a mile wide, and in it were pike of great size and weight. In the river Aver, which flowed through the park, were trout, perch, grayling, and many other kinds of fish, and here they were safe from the voracious pike in the lake. Picton was a good angler, and he loved to have a tussle with a twenty-four-pound pike, or a thirty-one-pound trout in the river. He was the owner of the land for many miles round, numerous farms, which had been in the same families for ages, and the famous downs of Haverton, where so many good horses had been trained. These downs were magnificent galloping grounds, and there was a clear stretch of three miles straight – small wonder that Brant Blackett turned out some good stayers.

Picton gloried in a good gallop on the downs, where the wind whistled in freedom, and where there was no occasion to ease a horse until he had done a four- or five-mile burst.

He was happy at Haverton – at least he always appeared to be – but there was one thing cast a gloom over the place at all times: that was the Admiral's death, and the cause of it – Hector's sentence to penal servitude, after his reprieve. This was why Picton did not care to be alone in the great house, why he always wished Captain Ben to be with him. He had many friends who came to see him, but his best friend next to Ben was Dick Langford, and he was far away in Devonshire. Sarah Yeoman, at the end of a week, took it upon herself to speak to Picton.

"You're lonely, sir; you're brooding. It's not good for young folks to brood. Wait till you're my age; then you can start if you are so minded. The Captain ought to come, sir. He's been gallivanting on the Sea-mew long enough; I hope there's not a lady in the case, Mr. Picton," she said.

Mrs. Yeoman was privileged; she had been at Haverton since she came as a girl over thirty years ago and by sheer worth had risen to the position of housekeeper, and ruler, at Haverton. Her husband had been a groom there. Sarah Yeoman practically ruled everybody and everything at Haverton; even Robert Rose, the butler, Amos Kidd, the head gardener, and all the rest of the male and female kind bowed down to her will. They bowed but did not worship; some of the maids – there were four – would have liked to pull her back hair at times and scratch her, but Sarah, although aware some feeling of this sort existed, went on her way serene and calm, knowing she was doing her duty. There was one thing about her: she was just, she held an even balance when there was a dispute; and Fanny, the head housemaid, who at times almost hated her, said she'd trust Sarah Yeoman under any circumstances to arrive at a right decision. She was slow to anger but when roused "all hands" fled from her wrath. With all her faults, there could have been no better woman chosen to take the helm at Haverton. She was loyal to the backbone; she considered the Woodridges the best family in Yorkshire, or any other shire. She felt the blow when Hector was condemned, and had not forgotten it, never would forget. She loved both boys in her motherly way, and, although Picton was her favorite, she held Hector in high esteem. She was surprised at Hector's falling a victim to a woman, she would not have been surprised had Picton done so.

"No, I don't think there's a lady in the case," replied Picton, smiling. "At least I am not aware of it."

"Sailors are sly," she said.

"I thought Captain Ben was a favorite of yours," he said.

"So he is, but sailors are sailors all the same, and there's no telling what he's up to on board the Sea-mew," she said.

Picton thought she would be astonished if she knew what Captain Ben was up to.

"I think I'll go to Bridlington to-morrow and see him," he said.

"If you do, bring him back with you."

"I will if possible."

"Why should it not be possible? What's to hinder him from coming?" she asked.

They would need her help later on, when Hector came to Haverton; he might as well tell her now: she was thoroughly trustworthy.

"A strange thing happened when we were at Torquay," said Picton.

She waited for him to go on.

"Late one night, just before we sailed, an old boatman rowed across the bay to the Sea-mew bringing a man with him."

"Well?" she said anxiously.

"Captain Ben was on deck, the boatman hailed him and said the man had come to see me. Ben asked his name, it was not given, but the boatman – Brack we call him – implored him to permit the man to go on board. So earnestly did he plead that Ben opened the gangway and let down the steps. The man no sooner set foot on them than Brack cleared away as fast as he could. The man came on deck, he seemed dazed, behaved like a madman. He flung himself on Ben, who easily held him back, the poor fellow was terribly weak and starved. Ben looked into his face, the man looked back; they recognized each other. That man is on the Sea-mew now. Captain Ben is watching over him, nursing him back to life and sanity. A great and grave task lies before us. We have to shield this man, hide him, until such time as he can come ashore without danger of being recognized. There was an escape from Dartmoor when we were at Torquay, Sarah."

She gasped; she felt faint; she pulled herself together.

"An escape from Dartmoor – not – "

"Hector. He is on the Sea-mew. That is why Captain Ben is not here," said Picton.

CHAPTER XI
TEARAWAY AND OTHERS

THERE was no occasion for Picton to travel to Bridlington. Captain Ben arrived next day and was very pleased to see him.

"He's much better," said Ben; "making a wonderful recovery. He's quite sane, remembers everything, but his health is terribly shattered and a long rest on the Sea-mew will do him a world of good. He has no desire to come to Haverton, or to leave the yacht; he thinks he is safer where he is, and he is right. There was no need to caution him to be careful, he knows what it means for all of us if there is the slightest suspicion about the Sea-mew. Glovey will attend to him, so will Mac, and the crew to a man have sworn to keep everything secret. Don't worry yourself about it, Picton; it will do no good; and I will return in a week or so to see how he is going on."

"Mrs. Yeoman knows," said Picton.

"She can be trusted, and it is better she should; it will prepare her for his coming," said Ben.

It was no use worrying, as Ben said, and as Brant Blackett was anxious to put the horses through the mill, several trials took place on the moor.

Tearaway proved herself a veritable flyer; she easily disposed of the lot pitted against her, and fully bore out the trainer's opinion of her, that she was as fast as the wind. She was a beautiful mare, black as coal, not a white speck on her, and stood sixteen hands high. No fault could be found with her; she was sound in her wind and limb, possessed terrific speed and was also a stayer. Blackett idolized her; he was desperately cut up that she had not been entered in any of the classic events, with the exception of the St. Leger. How she came to be entered in the great Doncaster race was peculiar. Her breeder, a Yorkshire squire, always entered his youngsters freely in the classic races. Somehow Tearaway had been overlooked until the last moment and a telegram was sent to enter the filly by King Charles – Far Away, in the St. Leger only. This was Tearaway, who was named afterward.

Picton bought her at the sales at Doncaster for five hundred guineas, at which price she was a bargain.

She ran only once as a two-year-old because Blackett saw she was growing fast and required time; to hurry her thus early in her career might, he said, ruin her.

Picton was immensely proud of her, and desirous of bringing off a great coup by winning the St. Leger. It had been the Admiral's ambition to win the Doncaster event, and more than once he had been within an ace of doing so. Every Yorkshire owner of horses, on any pretensions to a large scale, is anxious to win the Leger, the greatest race in the North.

Tearaway was practically an unknown quantity and Picton decided she should not run in public before September. With some fillies this would have been a risky policy to pursue, but Tearaway was so quiet and docile that there was no fear of her being frightened by a crowd, no matter how large, or by any amount of noise. The trainer agreed with this plan: Blackett was quite as anxious to win a Leger as his master. He was a Yorkshireman, and patriotism was strong within him.

Brant Blackett was intended by his father for an auctioneer and had been sent to a local firm in Whitby. He hated office work and was always slipping away and going out to sea on one of the fishing boats. The firm declined to have anything to do with him, and in some way or other he drifted to Middleham and took a situation in a racing stable. He was small, weighed under eight stone, and soon learned to ride well. He never rode in public but was considered as good as the best of them in getting the strength of a trial. He was recommended to the Admiral, when he wanted a private trainer, and came to Haverton, where he had been for many years. He was much attached to the family, and the place, and, like the rest of them, he was cut up over Hector Woodridge's trial. He had won many races during the time he had been at Haverton, but vowed no such flier had been in his hands as Tearaway. He was fond of the breed, and fond of the mare, and she repaid his kindness by being as obedient as a child.

"She's the sweetest-tempered filly I ever handled," he said. "Her temper's just lovely. She never flares up, or misbehaves; a perfect lady, that's what she is."

Everybody who saw the filly agreed with him, and in the Haverton district Tearaway was regarded as a good thing for the St. Leger.

"It's a long way off to September," said Picton as he and Ben sat on their hacks and looked at her after a morning gallop. She had been two miles at a fast pace and pulled up without the slightest sign of blowing. Her glorious black coat shone like satin in the sunlight; she tossed her head proudly, looking round with intelligent eyes that took in all her surroundings.

"No need to hurry her," said the trainer; "and there's nothing will happen to her, I'm sure. A sounder mare never stepped."

"We have hardly anything good enough to try her," said Picton.

"That's a fact," said Blackett. "It takes something out of the common to extend her."

There were a dozen horses at work, some cantering, others having spins over five and six furlongs.

As Picton rode back with Ben and the trainer he said: "What with one thing and another I forgot to tell you Mr. Langford is sending The Rascal here and he says I am at liberty to do what I like with him. He's a real good 'chaser, the same I won the double on at Torquay. It would be rather a joke if we won the St. Leger with Tearaway, and the National with The Rascal. I wonder if a trainer ever accomplished that feat?" said Picton, smiling.

"Never heard of it," said Blackett; "but I don't see why it should not be done. We've a pretty good schooling ground here."

"The Rascal is one of the best horses I have ridden over fences. He's a bit queer-tempered, but once he settles down to his work you can depend upon him to do his best," said Picton.

"Then, if he'll do that, he must be a good horse no matter what his temper may be," said the trainer.

During the week The Rascal arrived at Haverton and the white-faced chestnut created a favorable impression.

Picton found the same difficulty in mounting him, but once in the saddle all went well, and the way the horse took the stiffish fences on the Haverton schooling ground convinced the trainer there was a good race in him; but whether The Rascal was up to National form was another matter.

Picton wrote to Dick Langford, stating The Rascal had arrived safely, and saying he wished he, Dick, had come with him.

When Dick received this letter he said to his sister: "This is as good as an invitation. I'll avail myself of it and go down to Haverton for a few days. You don't mind, Rita?"

"Indeed, no; I think Mr. Woodridge is a very good friend," she replied.

"He is, and he'll make a very decent sort of brother-in-law," said Dick.

"Don't be silly," said Rita, her cheeks glowing.

"Is it silly? Not a bit of it – you know it's not. Picton's fond of you, and you're fond of him – that ends the matter. I wonder he hasn't asked you before."

"Asked what?"

"To be his wife."

Rita laughed as she said: "I think you spoilt an opportunity when you called to us in the garden that night. You remember?"

"Yes, I remember, and I also recollect I thought what a fool I was at the time," he said.

Picton was glad when Dick Langford arrived at Haverton; it gave Ben a chance to go back to the Sea-mew for a few days.

Dick always enjoyed a visit here, and small wonder, for such a lovely place could not fail to attract. He was fond of horses and Brant Blackett liked him.

"I hate showing a fellow round who pretends he knows a heap and knows nothing," said the trainer. "With Mr. Langford it's different; he's a very fair judge, and he's willing to learn; he's never cocksure about anything. He makes some shrewd remarks too, and he's clever – yes, I like Mr. Langford; there's grit in him."

Mrs. Yeoman gave Dick the hall-mark of her approval.

"He's a cheerful soul, not given to moping, and he's easily pleased; he always cheers Mr. Picton up, and he wants it at times – more than ever now," she thought.

It had come as a shock to her when Picton told her Hector had escaped and was on board the Sea-mew. She wondered if he were safe there. Picton told her Hector would be so changed when he left the yacht that no one would recognize him, and that he would change his name. Hector Woodridge would be dead to the world.

"Unless he can prove his innocence," he said.

"Oh, I wish that could be done!" she said. "Some day I think it will come to pass. He's innocent, I'm sure of it. Do you know what I think, Mr. Picton?"

"No; what is it?"

"I believe Mrs. Elroy killed her husband."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Picton. "What makes you think that?"

"I read every scrap of evidence at the trial. I am almost certain Mr. Hector was shielding her; he's just the sort."

"If your surmise is correct his innocence will never come to light, because he will never betray her," said Picton.

"Perhaps not, but she can't stand that on her conscience forever, she'll have to confess sooner or later, the burden is more than any woman or man can bear," she said.

"She may have done it," said Picton. "Her punishment must already be great if she did."

"If I were Mr. Hector, I'd seek her out and make her own up to it," she said.

"That's all very well, but you may be mistaken. In any case it is in Hector's hands, and he will not allow any one to interfere," said Picton.