Kathleen left immediately, and before the day was over Aylmer knew all that had passed, and shared the indignation inspired in Mrs. Ellicott and Ger by Kathleen's story. He owned that he was aware of Mr. Torrance's unsatisfactory state of health, and that it did not surprise him, and he replied gravely, "Kathleen has not yet seen his worst side, and I trust she never will, though he puts less and less restraint on himself. At first, I had some faint hope that the poor girl's unselfish trust and generosity would influence him permanently. Time has proved that I was wrong."
"Can Mr. Torrance have spent all Kitty's fortune?" asked Mrs. Ellicott.
"I fear so, since he is trying to wrest this little reserve sum from her. He is in debt, I know. He may have mortgaged the property, for he had full power. The income from the estate would about meet their present home expenditure, but if there is interest to be paid, and Torrance's outside extravagances to be met, he may easily be in difficulties."
"He cannot seize Kitty's little fund," said Ger.
"Not the property which yields the income. As to her savings, I dare say nothing. Torrance has stirred in her a spirit of resistance. He may next appeal to her pity with success. It waits to be seen whether love for her boy or his father will conquer in the end. If the worst come, it will neither find Kathleen homeless nor friendless whilst we three live," said Aylmer. On this thought alone could they all fall back for comfort.
When Kathleen reached home she asked for her boy.
"Master has taken him for a drive in the pony-trap, ma'am," was the nurse's answer.
The child had often gone with both parents, but his father had never before driven with the boy alone. Further inquiry showed that Mr. Torrance had got out at the station, and sent the trap back by a tenant's son. It seemed absurd to suppose that harm could happen to the child when in his father's care; but when Kathleen heard that the young man had seen the London train move off with Mr. Torrance and his boy in it, she turned sick with terror. "What could be John's motive for carrying off Kenneth unknown to his mother?" she asked herself.
Perplexed and troubled, she sent for Aylmer and Geraldine, who came immediately, and heard what had happened.
"You need not fear on your boy's account, Kathleen," said Aylmer, "though you may have to endure some suspense. No doubt John intends to extort your last available shilling. He has carried off the child that he may force you to ransom him at the cost of the sum you have saved as a provision for Kenneth. Do not yield. Trust to me, and be sure I will not rest until I find your boy."
"God will reward you for your unfailing goodness, my best of friends, my brother!" said Kathleen. "What should I do without you, my aunt, and dear, kind Ger?"
Kathleen's words were few, but her heart was full of thankfulness to the friends whom all her past wilfulness had failed to alienate.
Little has been said of late about Mountain, the faithful, self-opinionated, crusty coachman, who, despite his old dislike to Mr. Torrance, was still at the Hall. Kathleen had begged that she might retain him, and John Torrance, knowing the value of honesty and unimpeachable trustworthiness, had consented. The old man, however, always insisted that he served "Miss Kathleen as was," not Mr. Torrance. To him Aylmer would telegraph if needful, not to Kathleen, during his search for Kenneth.
Aylmer found that Mr. Torrance had booked for St. Pancras, and he was about to do the same, when a sudden inspiration stopped him.
Hollingsby was only two hours from London. Two trains left within a few minutes of each other, one express, the other slow. Mr. Torrance hated slow travelling, yet Aylmer easily ascertained that he had allowed the express to pass, though he might have had it stopped, and gone by slow train.
Aylmer at once decided that the London ticket was a mere blind, and that father and child would be set down at Earlsford Junction, ten miles away.
"I will make further inquiries," he thought. "Besides, there is no need to fear for Kenneth, and I must not risk a meeting with his father yet."
At seven that evening Mr. Torrance returned flushed and excited, but with an air of triumph. Kathleen schooled herself to meet him calmly, and asked in a natural tone, "Where is Kenneth, John? Have you given him to nurse? It is late for him to be out."
She trembled visibly, though she strove not to show her anxiety.
"You ask where our boy is. I will tell you after dinner, on certain conditions. In the meanwhile, let me say he is with those who will teach him to obey—a lesson he would hardly learn from you."
Without another word he passed her, and went to dress for dinner.
Kathleen easily divined what the conditions would be, and resolved not to yield to them. She only thought, "John is proud of our boy, and will not harm him. He only wants to coerce me through my fears for the child. I must bear in mind that if I have to endure threats and suspense during the child's absence, they will be for Kenneth's sake."
She went about preparing mechanically for the meal of which it would be impossible for her to partake. She even took special pains with her dress, and quietly told the nurse not to expect her charge before the morrow, as Mr. Torrance had left him to spend the night elsewhere.
Her manner deceived the servants, who were wondering what this new departure might mean. It also puzzled her husband, who expected passionate reproaches, tears and entreaties—anything but calmness. He could not imagine her capable of self-restraint where her child was concerned, and he saw it with surprise. Kathleen's trial came as soon as the servants left the room.
"You are not troubled at your darling's absence," said Mr. Torrance, in a mocking tone.
"How can I fear, when you are responsible for his safety?" replied Kathleen. "Still, it would have been kinder to tell me you were taking him away for the night."
"Or, if I had not taken him at all, I suppose."
"It is unusual to take one so young from home without warning the mother, that he might be fittingly clothed."
"It will do the boy good to rough it. He will have to do so, as a younger son. You have spoiled him."
Kathleen could not answer, and her silence irritated her husband, and disturbed his anticipation of an easy triumph, to be gained by the removal of the child.
"You are indifferent about the youngster, then; perhaps you are tired of both him and me. Why do you not speak?"
"You asked no question, and your remark called for no reply. You know that it was equally unjust and undeserved," replied Kathleen.
Her quiet dignity rendered Mr. Torrance uneasy, and he began to ask himself as to the source of her strength. There was something about Kathleen to-night which he could not fathom. Surely this hitherto yielding woman was not going to foil him when, as he would have expressed it, he had played his strongest card.
At this moment a servant entered and said, "Mountain would be glad to speak to you for a moment, ma'am."
"Excuse me for a moment, John," said Kathleen, "I will be back directly."
Mr. Torrance was always guarded before his servants, and he remarked, good-humouredly, "I suppose your favourite has been ailing. Mountain is a fidget about his horses."
When Mountain saw his mistress he made a remark or two about Polly, adding, "She is about well again now." Then in a low voice he said, "I've got the message, Miss Kathleen—ma'am, I mean. The child is safe at Monk's How."
An intelligent look from his mistress was enough for Mountain, and though she only remarked, "I am glad my favourite is better," he knew what his message had done for her.
Kathleen's heart beat wildly with the gladness Mountain's news had brought, but she went back to her husband with an unmoved face.
"Polly had been ailing, but Mountain says she is well again," she remarked.
"What do I care about the animal?" retorted Mr. Torrance. "You take Kenneth's absence coolly enough, and I am not likely to trouble about the mare. We have important business to talk about."
"I am ready to listen, John."
"You know what I mean well enough. You have only to recall to mind what I said this morning about the money you have been hoarding. I must and will have it, or a good portion of it, immediately."
"I do remember what you said. Surely you also remember my answer."
"You dare not repeat it, Kathleen."
"There is no need for me to do so; but oh, John! look back and think of the past, I pray you. If you do, you cannot persist in such a request. Remember this is all I have reserved for our child."
"I do not want the settled property. That is out of your power to give, but the money you have hoarded I will have, or you shall not see the boy again until he has forgotten that he ever knew his mother. I have him in my power, at any rate."
Even this threat failed to move Kathleen. In the same firm but quiet tone, she replied—
"I am sorry to deny you anything, John, but I must do what I feel to be right."
And as Mr. Torrance listened he was more than ever convinced that some secret influence was working against him, and that his final triumph was doubtful. He laughed uneasily, as he answered with a yawn—
"I am tired with my double journey, and need rest I will give you until to-morrow morning to come to your senses. By the way, I am glad the mare is all right again. She will sell for something, and every little helps."
The littleness displayed in this threat pained Kathleen more than the threat itself. Every day of late had shown her more plainly to what manner of man she had given herself. At this moment, however, the thought, "My child is safe, in loving hands, and with those whose faces and home are familiar to him," took the sting from the bitterest words that Mr. Torrance could say to her.
In spite of herself, Kathleen felt troubled about her husband. The complaint of weariness was no pretence. He walked unsteadily from the room, as if suffering from giddiness, and she noticed the almost livid colour on his face. He had of late frequently consulted a specialist relative to attacks of the kind, and had been advised to live very quietly and avoid excitement and stimulants. He would obey for then, feeling better, would laugh resume his old habits. Before Kathleen slept, she knew the story of her boy's recovery. It was told as briefly as possible in a note which Mountain placed in her hands later still.
CHAPTER XXIII LIGHT AT EVENTIDE
IT had been easy for Aylmer to find out that Mr. Torrance had left the train at Earlsford Junction, and Kenneth with him. The ex-captain was too well-known through the county for any mistake in identity to be possible. Besides, the carrying off of the child had been a sudden inspiration, not the result of a carefully laid plan, and Mr. Torrance had only counted that it would be needful to detain him for a night in some place unknown to his mother, to ensure her complete subjugation.
At Earlsford, he had hired a conveyance and driven away with the child, then returned alone, and taken train to another station thirty miles distant, whence he would return to Hollingsby.
Aylmer discovered the driver employed by Mr. Torrance without any trouble, and the man was willing to give any information, as Mr. Matheson was no stranger to him.
"It was a new thing for the captain to be in charge of the little man," he said. "But he was in rare spirits, as if he were up to some trick. Little master cried when his father left him, but Mrs. Munslow will take good care of him. She was nurse at Monk's How once, and afterwards she married a widower with two children, but comfortably off. She has one of her own now, so little master won't be short of a playfellow," said the man.
Aylmer knew that Ralph's nurse, Sarah Swain, was married, but neither remembered her present name nor her exact address—only that her home was a couple of miles from Earlsford Junction. The idea that Mr. Torrance would take the boy to Sarah had flashed across his mind, and sent him in the right direction instead of to town. He accordingly engaged the driver to convey him to her house. Under Sarah's charge he found little Kenneth, making himself very much at home in the society of the smallest Munslow.
Sarah beamed with delight at the sight of Mr. Matheson, and frankly owned that she thought her old master was up to some trick to plague his lady.
"I wouldn't have let him leave the child, sir," she said, "only I know Captain Torrance, and I thought he might be left in worse hands, if I refused. I knew I could make him comfortable, bless him! Isn't he like his beautiful mother? He has her eyes to a bit."
Mr. Matheson assented, and replied, "I am very glad you did take the poor child in. I can trust you to help me in restoring him to his mother."
He did not hesitate to trust Sarah in more than this, for he knew how grateful the woman had been to Kathleen, the Ellicotts, and himself, on Ralph's account.
"I always knew what would come of that marriage, sir," said Mrs. Munslow. "My old master might put on new ways for a bit, to get his own way; but he'll never change, and be a real, new man. If anybody could have altered him, Master Ralph's mother would have been the one, for Mr. Torrance cared more for her than for any human being but himself."
"Poor Miss Kathleen! She was good to my nursling, and to me. My master couldn't help being taken up with her beautiful face and pretty ways, but what he wanted was the money. He hasn't had sense to keep it, more's the pity. Eh dear! Miss Kathleen thought she could turn him round her little finger, he was so meek for a while and when he was in her sight, but out of it—"
Sarah shook her head to express what she did not put into words. In a regretful way she added, "The master was wonderfully fine-looking. No wonder a young lady thought such a handsome shell must cover a good kernel. But he is different now—so coarsened, as one may say."
Aylmer could only assent. The stamp of an evil life was only too visible, and Mr. Torrance's face to-day was in painful contrast to that of the handsome cavalier who had so captivated Kathleen's girlish fancy on the day of the meet a few years ago.
Mr. Matheson purposed taking the child back with him to Earlsford Station, but Sarah's womanly wit suggested a better plan.
