Powers of Darkness. Fred M. White
to the gaol, and Alice had no difficulty in finding the cottage where the warder, Joe Copping, and his wife resided. She had gathered from Hugh that Copping was off duty after five, and had delayed her call purposely to catch him. It occurred to her that a few words with the wife first would not be waste of time, and therefore it was about half-past four when she knocked at the door of the honeysuckle-covered porch.
She knocked again and again without response. In the calm, clear air she thought she could hear voices in the garden. Apparently a woman and man were talking, the tones of the latter being harsh and threatening. Probably the woman was Mrs. Copping. Alice turned through an arch of hazel trees in search of the hidden pair. She distinguished the outline of a young and pretty woman, and by her side stood a man, the sight of whom brought Alice nearly to her knees behind the waving greenery of friendly bushes.
The man was Carl Moler, of that Alice had not the smallest doubt. She gasped for breath, for by the merest luck she had escaped detection. She crouched down, feeling fairly secure in her hiding-place. She could catch words here and there, but it was impossible to gather anything like a connected conversation. The two moved nearer her presently, however, so that she could catch snatches of their talk.
“I can’t do it yet,” the woman was saying. “Can’t you have patience? You’ll gain nothing by scowling at me like that, mister. Besides, I’ve my husband to think of. Yes, I know it’s trifling, but if Joe caught you here he’d break every bone in your body. He may be back to tea at any moment. Why don’t you go?”
“Oh, I’m going,” Moler replied. “I will only come once more. You will have to make up your mind in a week one way or the other, Mary. Goodbye. I’ll slip out by the back gate, so as not to meet Copping. Now, mind, this is your last chance.”
The woman laughed as she made her way towards the cottage. Alice left her shelter by and by and followed. She had recovered from her alarm and surprise, and her courage was restored. At any rate, she had not wasted her time, for she had made what she was bound to regard as an important discovery. She was calm and collected as she knocked at the cottage door and asked for Copping. The woman was indescribably pretty, with a refined accent, but wore an aspect or fragility that told its own story. She started uneasily when she recognised her visitor.
“I want to see your husband, Mary,” Alice said. “I understand that at one time he was a gardener at Felsted House with Mrs. Grenfell. It’s rather strange that you never told me that, Mary.”
The woman blushed, and the look of uneasiness left her blue eyes.
“I thought you were aware of that, miss,” she said. “Though we were both children when first we met, Joe often speaks of the old days, and says it’s a pity we ever left the village. The air here is bad for him, and it’s bad for me. It’s those cruel fogs that do the mischief. They get on my chest and keep me coughing for nights together.”
Alice nodded, with ready sympathy. She knew that this woman was rehearsing a tragedy in these few words. The brilliancy of her complexion and the clearness of her eyes spoke plainly of the ravage of consumption. If Mary Copping stayed here she must die. Doubtless her husband was passionately fond of her. These pretty, fragile women have the knack of appealing to strong men. Alice was beginning to see her way.
“What does your doctor say about it?”
“Tells me to go away,” Mary Copping laughed mirthlessly. “It’s dangerous to spend even a summer here, and another winter will finish me. Joe’s heart is all wrong, too. The doctor said I was to have a sea voyage, and when I came back to live on high ground. He might just as well have ordered me to go and stay at Windsor Castle. Still, that’s what you’ve to put up with if you’re poor. Nobody wants to prevent your dying; it’s a free country, and you can die if you like, and all for the want of a hundred pounds. When I think of it, miss, I feel as if I could commit burglary.”
The woman laughed with a hopelessness that touched Alice. She looked so pretty and pathetic withal, but it was evident that the iron had entered her soul. She had brooded over this trouble till she had justified any method for her own salvation. The matter was still under discussion when Joe Copping entered.
He knew Alice, of course, and was very glad to see her under his roof. At her request he walked with her presently in the direction of Rawmouth Park.
“You are in great trouble, Copping, over your wife?”
“We all have our anxieties, miss,” Copping said. “Asking your pardon, miss.”
“I understand what you mean,” Alice answered. “It was a dreadful business, Copping, and the worst of it is that Mr. Grenfell is innocent. If he could get out for a few days he could prove his innocence. He says you have been kind to him.”
“I beg your pardon, miss,” Copping gasped. “Seeing that he’s a prisoner——”
“Never mind that for the present, Copping. I have been talking to your wife. I suppose you know that if she stays here she will die. Do you want to save her?”
Copping’s breast heaved with a deep sigh, and his brown eyes were full of pain.
“God knows I would lay down my life to save her,” he said simply. “I’d do anything for Mary.”
IV. — A TACIT UNDERSTANDING
Joe Copping spoke from the bottom of his heart. It was exactly as Alice had anticipated.
“There is no occasion to go quite so far as that,” she said, with a smile. “What you want is a hundred pounds. Mary must have a sea voyage without delay, and she must not return here. You will also get employment elsewhere, which will not be so difficult as it seems. We will play a game that we all used to be fond of as children—we will play ‘Supposing.’ Now suppose I ask you to do something for me. It isn’t much that I am going to suggest. All I ask you to do is to be blind for a day or two, a week at the outside. We will take it that you have not a good memory for faces—men who are clean-shaven and dressed in that hideous convict garb are very like each other.”
Copping’s mouth grew hard and he shook his head resolutely.
“You ought not to talk to me like that, miss,” remonstrated he. “It isn’t fair.”
“I thought everything was fair in love and war,” Alice went on. She spoke lightly enough, but her cheeks were red and hot. “Besides, you forget that we are only playing a game. Of course you know Mr. Grenfell well enough, but he has changed a great deal. In the prison he has a number, I believe. By the way, what is his number?”
“484,” Copping responded. “But, all the same, miss, I fail to see——”
“Oh, I will come to the point presently, Copping. When a chance like this comes, one is very loth to lose it. I know I’m doing wrong, Copping.”
“We both are, miss,” Copping urged doggedly. “You ought not to say this, and I ought not to listen to you. There’s a big difference between you and me, miss, and I hope I know my place. But, all the same, if I did my duty I should order you to go home and warn you that you must not be seen here any more. Ah! and you know it, miss.”
Alice flushed uncomfortably. There was no arguing the matter. Copping spoke no more than the truth, and, indeed, had not put the matter as bluntly as he was entitled to do. Quite illogically Alice felt annoyed with him. She was half inclined to change the subject altogether. But the reasons for persistence were strong, for Hugh’s social salvation was at stake. If she drew back now she would be acting as a traitor. In her heart of hearts, too, she felt that Copping was yielding. If she could only win his consent, then all must work out rightly in the long run. She thought of the mystery of Rawmouth Park, of Draycott brooding and plotting mischief there. At all hazards, she must get to the bottom of that business. Had Draycott taken advantage of Martin Faber. Perhaps Faber had had an imperious reason for taking