CHAPTER V
WHO WAS MRS. BYFIELD?
Since the previous evening, Brixey had been wondering how it came about that a member of the Byfield family should be occupying the comparatively humble position of book-keeper at the Mitre Hotel. He had seen enough of the Byfield house in the Minories to know that it signified money. Crabbe had spoken of Mrs. Byfield as of one well endowed with the world's goods.
He had also seen enough of Georgina Byfield as they journeyed together to Selchester to discover that she was a well-educated young woman, with ideas of her own, and not at all the sort of girl whom he would have expected to find making out bills and posting ledgers in a country town tavern, however long established. He was still wondering about this when Brackett came in with the object of his thoughts and carefully closed the door behind them.
"I've just told Miss Byfield what you told me outside there, Mr. Brixey," said the landlord. "She thinks what you seem to think—that your uncle may have known Mrs. Byfield at some time."
Brixey handed Georgina a chair and motioned Brackett to take another.
"Look here," he said. "Between the three of us, I've already got some suspicion about Mrs. Byfield, consequent, of course, on what Mrs. Crosse said last night, and of what I observed in Mrs. Byfield herself. Now, then, who is, or was, Mrs. Byfield? You see, my uncle had a big practice as a solicitor. He may have had dealings with her, and have recognised her. Anyway, I want to know all I can find out about her.
"Here's the position. According to Mrs. Crosse, a dependable witness, my uncle recognises Mrs. Byfield; he hurries out after her; he’s never seen again from that time, and Mrs. Byfield says she never saw him. Are there reasons why Mrs. Byfield should wish it not to be known that she did see him?"
He looked at Georgina, and Georgina shook her head.
"I don't know anything of Mrs. Byfield's antecedents," she answered. "As to her coming to the town, Mr. Brackett can tell more than I can. I only know what I've heard."
"It was this way, you see, sir," said Brackett. "I, of course, have my days, so I know all the history of the place.
"Now, about these Byfields. They're an old family in the town, what you might call the present generation, we'll go back to when I was a young man. There were then two Byfields—Martin Byfield and Peter Byfield, his younger brother, this young lady's father. They both had money—a certain amount, you understand.
"Now, Martin Byfield went into trade with his, and he made a rare lot more. Peter, I'm sorry to say, lived on his capital, and, to tell the plain truth, he got through everything before he died. It just about lasted out. Missie here won't mind me saying that her poor father was his own worst enemy."
"Say whatever you like, Mr. Brackett," said Georgina. "You know all the facts."
"Well, to get to, say, twenty-two or twenty-three years ago," continued Brackett, "Martin Byfield had made a big fortune, and had retired from business, and was living in that house in the Minories that you called at last night, sir. He was a bachelor. He began to travel a good deal. He was always going on the Continent. He used to take with him a sort of manservant or valet that he had—a man named Wetherby.
"Wetherby’s living here in the town now. And it'll be just twenty-two years this next winter that they went off to the Riviera for a few months. They came back in spring, and Martin Byfield brought a wife home with him."
"This present Mrs. Byfield?" asked Brixey, who was making careful mental notes. "The one I've seen?"
"The same, sir," answered Brackett. "Brought her home, a bride. A rare handsome woman she was, too; a woman, I should say of twenty-eight or thirty—maybe a year or two more."
"Nothing was said by Martin Byfield as to who she was, nor as to where they met, but it came out through Wetherby that his master had met her at Cannes, or Nice, or somewhere about there, and that she was a young widow from one of the Colonies—New Zealand or Australia; I forget which.
"Wetherby let it out, too, that they were married, after a short acquaintance, at the English church at Monaco. So that's how this Mrs. Byfield came to Selchester. Now, as I'm telling this story, we come to the relations between Martin Byfield, her husband, and Peter Byfield, his brother—this young lady's father."
Brixey turned and glanced at Georgina, who was listening quietly to the old landlord.
"I hope you don't mind these recollections—or revelations?" he said. I assure you I shouldn't ask for them if I didn't think them necessary."
"I don't mind anything that Mr. Brackett tells," she, answered. "Mr. Brackett knows everything."
"Missie and me understand each other, sir," remarked with a nod at his book-keeper. "We're old friends. Well, now, up to the time of his marriage, Martin had been good friends with his brother Peter, who, I may tell you, had married two or three years previously. But it was noticed that after Martin came home with his wife from foreign parts the old friendliness died out, and, to cut matters short, it came to this—the brothers were on little more than talking terms.
"Some said the two wives couldn't hit it off—some said that Mrs. Martin Byfield didn't like her husband's relations, and wouldn't encourage their coming to the house in the Minories. But what is certain is that she had a tremendous influence over her husband, and did what she liked with him, and that for some years before their deaths the two brothers, Martin and Peter, had been more or less of strangers.
"However, if they weren't united in life, they were, as you might say, united in death, for they both died within a month of each other, just three years ago. With this difference, Mr. Brixey—and missie won't mind my saying it—Martin died a very rich man; Peter died very poor."
"Did Martin leave any children?" asked Brixey.
"One lad, sir—young Fanshawe Byfield, this girl's cousin, who's now close on twenty-one," answered Brackett. "You’ll not be long in the town before you see him. He’s a handful for anybody to manage—between us three, I won’t have him here in the 'Mitre'—I’ve warned him off.
"Now, Martin, although he’d so much to leave—he was a very wealthy man—died intestate; leastways, nobody was ever able to bring any will of his to light, and so, of course, there were no legacies for anybody, and everything fell into the hands of the widow and the son.
"Nothing for his niece here, sir!—not a penny. And as her father had left next to nothing, and her mother was dead—well, missie here had to earn her living, and"
"And Mr. Brackett gave her the chance to do it," interrupted Georgina softly. "Now Mr. Brixey knows that secret, Mr. Brackett, so"
"I see, I see," exclaimed Brixey. "Good man!—I understand. But I say," he went on hastily. "You mayn't quite see why, but what you’ve told me makes me all the more convinced that Mrs. Crosses story is true, and that my uncle recognised Mrs. Byfield as somebody he knew or had known.
"Now, look here. My uncle had an extensive practice in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and to my knowledge he knew a lot of curious people, and was mixed up in some odd affairs. Moreover, he’d an extraordinary memory for faces—it’s not so long ago that he said to me in the course of conversation about such things that he could remember a client if he hadn’t seen him for twenty years. I’m certain that he recognised Mrs. Byfield."
"Now, if he did, and if—as seems probable—he went after her, the fact of that recognition makes his subsequent disappearance all the more remarkable. And I'd like to know something. Has this Mrs. Byfield any people of her own? Did or does she have relations, friends, to visit her? Do you happen to know that, Mr. Brackett?—or you, Miss Byfield?"
"In other words, sir," said Brackett, "you want to know this: Who is or who was Mrs. Byfield? All right. I can answer for the entire population of Selchester. Nobody knows—not even after twenty years."
Brixey sat thinking in silence for a few minutes. At last he rose and picked up his hat.
"One question occurs to me, just now, out of what you’ve told me. Were people surprised to find that Martin Byfield died intestate?"
Brackett glanced at Georgina.
"Seeing that this child's father and mother were dead and she left without means, some people were more than surprised, sir!" he replied with emphasis. "It was a black shame that Martin Byfield didn’t make a will and provide for her!"
"But you said Martin and his brother died about the same time," said Brixey.
"Pater died first," answered Brackett, "Martin had time—three weeks. He himself died very suddenly. He'd time, plenty of time to do something for his niece, let alone make a will!"
Brixey turned again to Georgina.
"It seems a shame to ask such private questions," he said. "But when you were left like that, did your uncle do nothing for you?"
Georgina glanced- at the landlord, and then at Brixey.
"Mr. Brackett and I don't agree on this point," she said. "But, if you want to know the truth—that is, as I see it—I don’t believe that my uncle Martin ever knew my father was dead."
"Can’t credit it, my girl!" muttered Brackett. "Must have known!"
"You’ve a reason for that opinion," suggested Brixey, looking at Georgina. "What is it?"
"I think Mrs. Byfield took care he shouldn’t know," she answered.
Brixey nodded and made for the door.
"All right!" he said. "All between ourselves, you know. We’ll talk more, later. Just now I’ve some important business."
He hurried straight down to the post office and wrote out a telegram:
William Gaffkin, 26, Alpha Road, Brondesbury, London, N.W. Mr. Linthwaite has unaccountably disappeared under strange, circumstances. Come by next express and meet me at Mitre Hotel, Selchester—Richard Brixey.
That done, and the message handed in, Brixey lighted his pipe and walked slowly up the street in the direction of the "Lame Hussar."