"What I will tell you if you come again," she said under her breath, and suddenly left the room. She did not return.

CHAPTER XII

MRS. PARRY'S TEA

Six months had pa.s.sed away since the death of Daisy. The gra.s.s was now green above her grave. Where she had fallen there had she been buried beside her father, and the villagers often talked of the tragedy, and pointed out to strangers the spot where it had taken place. But she who had killed the girl--they still considered Anne guilty--had never been brought to justice. From the day she had fled on Ware's motor-car nothing had been heard of her.

No one troubled about the dead girl. Daisy had not been very popular during her life, and now that she was gone her name was scarcely mentioned. For a time Mrs. Morley had placed flowers on the green mound, but after her return from Brighton had desisted. The gra.s.s grew long, and the path beside the grave green. A tombstone of white marble had been erected by Giles, and already that was becoming discolored. Daisy and her resting-place were forgotten. The poor child might have been dead a hundred years instead of six months. Only the tale of her death remained as a fireside legend, to be amplified and improved upon as the years went by.

After that one sensation life went on in Rickwell very much as it had always done. Morley and his wife returned to The Elms, and instead of having a new governess the triplets went to school. Mrs. Morley never spoke of Anne or Daisy, and seemed to grow no more cheerful than before even in the perfect summer weather. She still looked pale and subdued, and her eyes still had in their watery depths an anxious expression.

Everyone said that she was regretting the death of Daisy and the wickedness of Anne; but others remarked that she had looked just as haggard and worn before as after the tragedy. Mrs. Parry gave it as her opinion that the poor lady had a secret sorrow, and tried by skilful questioning to learn what it was. But either Mrs. Parry was not clever enough or Mrs. Morley had no secret to reveal, for the scandal-monger learned nothing. The only thing that Mrs. Morley said was that she missed her girls. Whereupon Mrs. Parry told her that she ought to be ashamed of herself, seeing that the three were getting a good education.

However, this did not seem to console Mrs. Morley much, for she wept copiously in her usual fashion.

The good old lady returned to her cottage very much disgusted. It was rather a dull time for her, as she had heard no news for a long time.

Everyone was so well-behaved that there was no scandal going, and Mrs.

Parry began to think that she ought to pay a visit to town. Her cousin, Mrs. McKail, had already gone back to New Zealand with a fearful opinion of English Society, for Mrs. Parry had blackened the country just as though she had been a pro-Boer.

Then one day her little maid, who was called Jane, and had the sharpest ears of any one in the village, brought in breakfast with the remark that Mr. Ware had returned. Mrs. Parry sat up in bed, where she always partook of the first meal of the day, and looked excited.

"When did he arrive, Jane? How does he look? What does he say?"

Jane, being experienced, answered these questions categorically.

"He came last night, mum, with Trim, and looks a shadder of hisself, but said as he was glad to be home again, and what was the news."

"Ho!" said Mrs. Parry, rubbing her nose with a teaspoon, "wants to hear the news, does he? I'll ask him to tea to-morrow--no, to-day. You can take a note up to his place, Jane."

"Yes, mum," replied Jane, who was friendly with Giles' housekeeper.

"And don't let me hear that you've been gossiping with the servants, Jane," snapped Mrs. Parry, who was unusually cross in the morning, and looked an ogress without her wig. "I hate gossip. You have two ears and one mouth, Jane; that means you should listen twice as much as you speak."

"Yes, mum," replied Jane, who had long since taken the measure of her mistress's foot. Then she went to the door, and was recalled to be told that the cook was to make a cake. She was going again, and had to return for instructions about some particular tea. Then there was the silver to be especially polished, and various other matters to be gone into, until Jane's head was whirling and her feet ached. She went down to the kitchen and told the cook that the old vinegar bottle was more fractious than usual. If only Mrs. Parry had heard her! But she thought Jane was afraid of her, whereas Jane was meek to her face and saucy behind her back. The old lady heard all the gossip in the neighborhood, but she never knew the remarks that were made in her own kitchen.

However, it thus came about that Giles received a civil note from Mrs.

Parry, asking him to come to afternoon tea. His first thought was to refuse, but he then reflected that if he wanted to learn all that had taken place during his absence, Mrs. Parry was the very person who could tell him. He knew she was an old cat, and had a dangerous tongue. Still, she was much better than a newspaper, being, as her enemies said, more spicy. He therefore accepted the invitation, and appeared in the little parlor about five. He had been for a ride, and having put his horse up at the inn, asked the old lady to excuse his dress. Mrs. Parry did so with pleasure.

Giles was a splendid figure of a man, and looked a picture in his trim riding-dress. The old dame had an eye for a fine man, and cast an approving glance at his shapely legs and slim figure. But she frowned when her eyes rose to his face. It was thinner than she liked to see; there was not the old brave light in his eyes, and his fair moustache had lost the jaunty curl, which, to her romantic mind, had made him such a gallant lover.

Giles was one of the few persons Mrs. Parry did not abuse, for his good looks and many courtesies had long since won her foolish old heart, although she would never confess to it. But then, Mrs. Parry was softer than she looked.

"Who had been taking the heart out of you, Ware?" she asked in her gentlemanly way, which Giles knew and had often laughed at.

"No one," he answered gloomily, "unless you call Fate some one."

"I call Anne Denham some one," she replied coolly, "so you haven't found her yet, poor soul!"

"No; I have looked everywhere. She has vanished like a bubble."

"It is just as well. You couldn't possibly marry her and bring her back to Rickwell as your wife."

"Why not? She is innocent. You said yourself that she was."

"And I believe it. I have stood up for her all through. All the same, Ware, there would be a scandal if she came back as Mrs. Ware."

"I don't care two straws for that," said Giles, flinging back his head.

"No," she replied dryly, "I know that. You're an obstinate man, as any one can see with half an eye. Well, I'm glad to see you again. Sit down in the armchair yonder and tell me what you have been doing all these months. No good, if your face is the index of your mind."

Ware laughed, and sitting down managed to stow his long legs out of the way--no easy matter in the little room. Then he accepted a cup of excellent tea from Mrs. Parry and some of her celebrated cake.

He did not reply immediately, as he did not want to tell her the truth.

She had too long a tongue to be told anything which it was necessary to keep secret. He put her off as he best could with a general answer.

"I have just been going to and fro."

"Like Satan," sniffed Mrs. Parry. "He's your model, is he? So you have been searching for Anne. Where?"

"In Paris and in London. But I can't find her."

"She doesn't want you to find her," replied the old lady. "If she did, you would stand face to face with her soon enough."

"That goes without the speaking," retorted Ware. "However, my adventures would not amuse you, Mrs. Parry. Suppose you tell me what has been going on in these parts?"

"As if I knew anything of what was going on," said Mrs. Parry.

Giles laughed.

It was a fiction with Mrs. Parry that she never interfered with other people's business, whereas there was not a pie within miles into which she had not thrust her finger. But he knew how to start her tongue.

"The Morleys, what about them?"

"No change, Ware. The Tricolor has gone to school--I mean the three children--although I can't get out of the habit of calling them by that ridiculous name. Mrs. Morley is as dismal as ever, and seems to miss Anne very much."

"As well she might. Anne was a good friend to her. And Morley?"

"He has found a new friend," said Mrs. Parry triumphantly, "a man called Franklin."

"George Franklin!" cried Ware, startled, for he had heard all about the fortune from Steel. "He is the man who inherited the five thousand a year that Powell left to Daisy. Steel, the detective, told me, and, now I think of it, Morley told me himself when I was ill."

"It's the same man, Ware. He has been here two months, and has taken the Priory."

"That's a cheerful place," said Giles. "Why, it has been standing empty for three years."

"I know. The last tenants left because they said it was haunted."