The Mynns' Mystery

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  KITCHEN OPINIONS.

  The cry was so peculiar, and impressed its hearers so painfully, thatthey stood looking at each other, Gertrude with blanched cheeks, andMrs Hampton, who had not outgrown the superstitious dread common tomost natures suffering from a nervous tremor that she had not felt foryears.

  She was the first to speak with assumed cheerfulness.

  "Why, it's that dog," she said. "I declare for the moment it quitestartled me?"

  "Yes," said Gertrude, with her voice sounding husky and strange, "it wasthe dog."

  But neither moved to do what was most natural under the circumstances:to go and pat and pacify the poor animal, neither did they discuss thepossibility of how it was injured, but stood listening for its next cry,and both started violently as the door was opened and Mrs Denton, whiteand trembling, hurried into the room.

  "Did--did you hear that, Miss Gertrude?" she said in an awe-strickenwhisper.

  "Do you mean poor Bruno's howl?"

  "Yes, miss," said the old woman in the same low tone of voice.

  "The poor thing is in pain, I suppose."

  "No, miss, it isn't that," said Denton slowly. "If he was hurt, hewould yelp sharply. He has got something on his mind."

  "Don't be such a ridiculous old woman, Denton!" cried Mrs Hamptonimpatiently, to cover her own dread. "Dogs have no minds. They howlsometimes because it's their nature to."

  "Yes, ma'am," said the old housekeeper respectfully, but speaking in avery slow, impressive tone; "because it is their nature to howl whenthey know there's death on the way."

  "Gertrude, my dear, for goodness' sake don't you be superstitious. It'sabsurd. It is what you have just heard--an old woman's tale. Why, ifdogs howled because there was death about, they'd pass their days doingnothing else, and wouldn't have time even to wag their tails."

  "Denton, you are old enough to know better."

  "Yes, ma'am, I'm seventy years and three months old, and I suppose Iought to know better, but I don't."

  "There is nothing to mind, Denton," said Gertrude gently. "Poor Brunoquite startled me for the moment, but he has settled down now, and--"

  She stopped short, for the dog again uttered the same long, low howl--acry which sounded more impressive than the one they had heard before.

  Gertrude's face looked ghastly, and for a moment she reeled and caughtat Mrs Hampton's trembling hand, while the old housekeeper sank uponher knees and buried her face in her apron.

  Gertrude was the first to recover her presence of mind.

  "How childish!" she said, as she crossed to the old woman where sheknelt. "Denton, dear, don't think so seriously of such a trifle. Thereis no truth in these old superstitious ideas."

  "No truth, my dear?" said the old woman, taking and kissing the handlaid upon her shoulder. "Was there no truth in my shutting poor Brunoup in the shed, and his getting out by tearing his way under the side,and howling in the garden the night poor dear master died? I know whatyou will both say to me, that I am a silly old woman; but I have seenand heard strange things in my time, and I hope, with all my heart, thatthis is not a sign of ill having come to some one we know, whether it'sto young master or Mr Saul. But, mark my words, we shall hearsomething terrible, and before long."

  "Yes, we shall all hear bad news, Denton, if we live long enough," saidMrs Hampton, who was quite herself again. "Let's go and see how yourpatient is, Gertrude, my dear."

  She crossed to the door, and Gertrude followed her quickly, leaving theold housekeeper hesitating as to whether to go or stay, and ending byslowly following the others into the hall.

  Bruno had not moved from where he had been left, but lay with his headbetween his paws, and eyes closed, apparently asleep, till Gertrudestood over him, when he half opened his eyes and looked up at her.

  "Poor old dog, then!" she said gently, as she went down on one knee andsoftly stroked his neck.

  The dog closed his eyes and responded to her caress by giving a few rapsupon the floor with his tail, after which he lay perfectly still, as ifasleep.

  "I wonder how he was hurt," said Gertrude gently.

  "Some brute must have struck him, and he ought to be punished."

  "Bruno would not hurt anyone except those he hates," said Mrs Dentonslowly, as she came and stood close by them.

  "Poor thing!" said Mrs Hampton. "Well, we can do no more. He willsoon get better. Come, Gertrude."

  The girl was giving the dog a final pat on the neck, when it suddenlyraised its head, opened its eyes wildly and stared right away, utteringa long, low howl, ending in a mournful whine.

  "Really," exclaimed Mrs Hampton, "he must not do that or you must havehim moved, Gertrude."

  The dog seemed to sink into an uneasy sleep, and Gertrude followed MrsHampton into the drawing-room.

  "Ought we to take any steps about George?" said Gertrude, after a pause;"to find out whether he has gone with Saul Harrington?"

  "No, my dear, certainly not. He has a perfect right to do as hepleases. He will, as I said before, no doubt write."

  Gertrude was silent, and crossed to a writing-table to busy herself oversundry domestic accounts, while Mrs Hampton took out her knitting andglanced at her from time to time, as her needles clicked and flashed intheir rapid plying.

  "And a good thing if he has gone," she said to herself. "If I could doas I liked, he'd have his money and go to Jericho or any other place, solong as he did not come and worry her."

  By this time Gertrude's attention was taken up by her accounts, and hercountenance looked comparatively calm and peaceful.

  "Love him?" said Mrs Hampton. "She does not even like him, only fightshard to do what she has been told."

  The day passed quietly enough in the drawing-room, but the suddendeparture of the owner of The Mynns formed a topic of conversation amongthe servants. John Season, the gardener, came in for what he called"just a snack" about twelve o'clock, the said snack being termed lunch;but as John, a dry-looking gentleman with a countenance like a piece ofruddy bark, did not dine at quality hours, the snack served as dinnerand saved him from going home, beside being an economy, as cook was notparticular about his making a sandwich to wrap in his red cottonpocket-handkerchief "again he felt a bit peckish." Not that he ever didfeel a bit peckish after the hearty snack, for his sandwich was peckedby the four young Seasons at home.

  John's making of that sandwich was artistic and exact, for the slices ofcold beef were always fitted on to the bottom slice of bread with theregularity to be expected of a man who kept a garden tidy. The topslice, as if from absence of mind, was also covered with slices to thesame degree of exactness, and then after a liberal sprinkling of thesanitary salt, and spreading of the mordant mustard, these two sliceswere placed close together at the cut edge.

  Now, to some unpractised hands a difficulty would here have arisen--howto get those two slices together without letting the beef get out ofplace.

  But John Season was not unpractised.

  Some people would have solved the problem by cutting two more slices ofbread, and clapping them on the top. But that would have lookedgrasping. John was allowed by cook to cut himself a sandwich. Thatwould have looked like cutting two sandwiches. True, there was the beeffor two sandwiches there; but then it did not appear to be so to thecasual observer, and as bread was fairly plentiful at home, while beefwas not, John got over the difficulty in a way which salved hisconscience and the cook's.

  On this particular morning, John had been very busy eating, with hismouth so full that he did not care to talk. The beef was sirloin, andthe prime thick, streaked, juicy undercut, with its marrowy fat, hadbeen untouched. The knife was sharp, and John had eaten and carved hissandwich till he had laid down the keen blade with a sigh, gazing at hiswork, and then at the glass of beer freshly drawn for his use.

  "Yes?" he said to the cook and housemaid, to take up a thread ofconversation which had been lying untouched for twenty minutes; "he c
amehome with his head queer, did he?"

  "Yes, and bleeding," said the housemaid. "I dunno where he'd been."

  "I do," said John, altering the position of one of his beef-ladenslices, so that it should be exactly parallel with the other, and oneinch away.

  "You do, John?" said the cook, with her eyes wide open.

  "Yes. Under the laurels half asleep. I see him."

  "But he hadn't been out?" said the housemaid.

  "Not he."

  "Then how did he get that cut on the head?" said the housemaid.

  "I know," cried cook triumphantly.

  "How?"

  "Climbing the wall after a cat, and then he tumbled off on to thebricks."

  "Oh!" ejaculated the housemaid, snatching at the explanation.

  "Wrong," said John Season, untying and retying his blue serge apron, asa necessity after his hearty meal.

  "Then, pray how was it, Mr Clever?" said cook.

  "He'd been interfering with master in the dark. Didn't know him, Is'pose; and master give him a polt with a stick."

  "Oh!" ejaculated the housemaid.

  "But why should he interfere with master?" said cook, who felt annoyedat her solution being so ruthlessly set aside.

  "Because he was a good dog," said John, taking a sip from his glass, andmoving his chair a little, as he thought, with a sigh, about the bigpiece of lawn he had to sweep in the hot sun.

  "A good dog to fly at his master!" exclaimed cook, rolling her arms inher apron.

  "He's only a new master that he don't know well, and don't much like,"said John sententiously; "and he sees him coming out of the window inthe middle of the night."

  "Oh!" ejaculated the housemaid again.

  "`Burglars!' says Bruno. If you remember, his bark always sounds likesaying burglars."

  "Yes; I've always noticed that," said the housemaid, emphasising thelast word.

  "Fiddle!" said cook contemptuously.

  "Ah, you may say fiddle," said John, taking out his red handkerchief,and slowly spreading it upon his knees, "but that's it. Sees him comingdown from the stairkiss window, and goes at him; master gives him one onthe head, and Bruno feels sick, and goes and lies down among thelaurels."

  "And who says master went out of the stairkiss window," said cook with asnort, "when there's a front door to the house as well as a back?"

  "I did, my dear, and you needn't be cross."

  "Enough to make any one cross to hear folks talk rubbidge. Pray, how doyou know he went out that way?"

  "Ah!" exclaimed the housemaid, as much as to say "that's a poser."

  "Because I had to take the rake and smooth out the footmarks, as was aeyesore to a gardener who takes a pride in his place," said John with asatisfied smile.

  "You did, John?" said cook, giving way directly, and lowering her voiceas she drew nearer the speaker, and poured him out another glass of ale.

  "Thankye, my dear. Yes; same as I've done before."

  "But why should he get out of the window on the sly like that?"

  "Larks!" said John Season, giving one eye a peculiar cock. "Why doyoung men get out of other windows o' nights, eh?"

  "Well, of all!" exclaimed the housemaid.

  "Then he ought to be ashamed of himself," exclaimed cook; "and for twopins I'd go and tell Miss Gertrude myself."

  No one offered the two pins, and as the reward was not forthcoming, cookseemed to consider her proposition off.

  "It's no business of our'n, cook," said John Season, slowly extendinghis hands on either side of the waiting sandwich; then with one suddenand dexterous movement he shut it up, as any one might have closed anopen book, and so quickly that not so much as a bit of fat had time tofall.

  The next moment it was folded in the handkerchief and thrust in JohnSeason's pocket.

  "There were footprints under the stairkiss window, then," whisperedcook.

  "That's so, under the stairkiss window," said the gardener.

  "Under the stairkiss window!" said the housemaid. "My?"

  Then John Season rose and took a basket from the floor,

  "But how could he get up and down from the stairkiss window?" said cookexcitedly.

  "Oh, it's easy enough to any one as knows what he's about," said thegardener. "Off course he'd drop down."

  "And no bars to the window," exclaimed cook indignantly. "Well, Ialways said so; we shall all be murdered in our beds some night."

  "Not you, cook. Burglars don't know," said John, "and higgerance isstronger than iron bars."

  "But shan't you tell Miss Gertrude?" said the housemaid.

  "What! that master likes to do as he pleases; and upset her, poor littlelass? Not likely."

  "No," said cook, who seemed to have repented of her own proposition; "astill tongue maketh a wise head."

  This shot proverbial was fired at the gardener, cook looking at himfixedly, as if to let him know that he did not possess all the wisdom atThe Mynns.

  "Well, here's luck," said John Season, before tossing off the remaininghalf glass of ale; and thrusting his arm under the handle of the basket,he went off, repeating his orders to himself, as given by cook for thelate dinner: "Onions, taters, beans, peas, parsley, lettuce, and abeet."