One Tree Hill

By E. R. Punshon

SUPPOSE it was Sir Roger’s physique that fascinated her. One cannot deny that he was good-looking; a tall, dark, scowling man, with the form and muscles of a giant, and an insolent way of staring people down that some women, and among them Bertha Glyn, found fascinating. As for me, who am only of middle size and of slim build, with a somewhat shy, nervous manner, no doubt I cut a poor enough figure beside him. I saw as much when Bertha looked from me to him. Yet I had had hopes, high hopes, before he came.

Still I put it to the test, and she refused, very nicely, very kindly, but her soft words took the meaning out of my life. A month later and her engagement to Sir Roger was announced, and the wedding followed swiftly. Sir Roger wished no delay, it seemed, and he was one of those stormy, passionate men who think everything must give way to their desires.

I hope my wedding present was not one of the least valuable. It was an old Sèvres vase; and I heard afterwards that while Sir Roger was admiring it, he dropped it, and smashed it to atoms.

After their wedding I went abroad. I came back sooner than I had intended, for I was only a fool to suppose that a trip abroad would cure me of my now hopeless devotion, and I found there were already rumours circulating about Sir Roger and his young wife. It was said he was not kind to her, that he was wildly jealous of her, that he was even trying to cut her off from all intercourse with her own family. The stories that were told were torture to me, but what could I do, I, the discarded lover, the rejected suitor?

There was even a story that he had struck her with his riding-whip!

The day after that tale had gone the round her brother Hugh came to see me. I was sitting alone in my rooms, and it seemed hard to me that when there are so many roads to death there was never one that I could find. Hugh and I had been at school together, and I knew it had been his wish and hope that I should marry his sister. When he came into the room he looked at me, and started, and then said:

“I see you’ve heard“”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He did not answer, but glanced towards the sideboard mirror. I looked, too. It was a face wild and pale and fierce enough that I saw reflected there, and I knew what Hugh had meant.

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard,” I said.

Hugh and his sister had been more to each other than most brothers and sisters are, perhaps. His face was nearly as pale as mine as he said:

“I can’t stand it any longer.”

“You’ve a right to interfere,” I said bitterly.

“Do you know,” he asked slowly, “whom Roger is so jealous of?”

“No,” I asked, “is there some one in particular”

“You,” Hugh answered.

I stared at him. I could not believe he was serious.

“But I have not seen Bertha—Lady Eden—since the marriage,” I said.

“I know,” Hugh answered, “but it seems he was always jealous of you. That vase you gave them—I believe Roger dropped it on purpose; anyhow he has accused her of thinking of you—he is jealous of any one who goes near her, and he is jealous of you because you stay away.”

“But he must be mad,” I cried.

“He, tries to prevent father seeing her, even,” Hugh continued. “I can’t stand it any longer. I am going to make her leave him, but he watches her as a cat watches a mouse—and if you insist, he takes it out of her. He is killing her, and she must leave him.”

“But will she?” I asked.

“She will, if I can get her alone to talk to her for a bit,” Hugh answered, “but that is the difficulty, for he never leaves her—I just want a clear field for three or four hours.” He paused. “That is where I want your help,” he said.

“I don’t see” I said doubtfully; “I should only make things worse.”

“This way,’ he explained. “I want you to go and stay at Sladen, at the little inn there, for the fishing. Roger will hear you are there, and he will be on the look-out at once. Then I shall send Bertha a message written in a disguised hand, ‘Meet me at the top of One Tree Hill at the usual hour after dark,’ and I shall arrange for that message to fall into Roger’s hands. He will couple the message with you, and will rush off to One Tree Hill and wait there, hoping to catch you and Bertha together. Meanwhile, you will just take the six-thirty to town, and while Roger is lurking about in the dark on the top of the hill you will be showing yourself in town in public somewhere—could you arrange to give a little dinner at the Savoy, for example?—and I will call at the house, see Bertha, and get her to come away with me to mother and father—and she shan’t go back unless Roger gives proofs that he will treat her properly.”

“I see,” I said hesitatingly, eager though I was to help Bertha—Lady Eden; “still I don’t quite like Wouldn’t it be better if you could manage without my name appearing at all?”

“He watches her so closely,” answered Hugh, “that only his jealousy of you, and his hope and belief that he is going to catch you together, will get him away; besides I don’t mind admitting I take a particular pleasure in using his own scoundrelly suspicions to defeat him with. And then when he finds her gone I expect he will give himself away in his passion—he might give us a chance to apply for a separation.”

I did not altogether like the idea, but my eagerness to help Lady Eden, and to defeat Sir Roger, carried me away. After all, I was to do nothing but spend a couple of days fishing at an inn, and then return to London and give a dinner at the Savoy.

At the beginning all went smoothly. I went to the inn and fished religiously, and I had an idea that Sir Roger was soon aware of my presence so near his place. Indeed, one pool I fished was in full view of the house, and I even thought I saw Sir Roger himself directing some small building operations that were going on in the ruined west wing, the oldest part of the mansion, and now not inhabited. A portion of one of the walls had become dangerous, so they told me at the inn, and Sir Roger was having it buttressed.

The evening of that day, as arranged, I paid my bill, left the inn, and set off to walk across to the railway station. I was. about half-way, in a lane in a very lonely spot, when I heard a motor behind me. I glanced round carelessly, and that momentary glance told me at once that something had gone very seriously wrong with Hugh Glyn’s ingenious plan.

For it was Sir Roger’s motor, and it was driven by himself, huge, black, and scowling. Bertha was seated at his side, looking very pale, and very startled as. she first caught sight of me.

Sir Roger bawled to me to stop, and I turned round and waited. He brought the car to a standstill quite close to me, and stared at me in his insolent, overbearing way, and I could see that black rage lay heavy on his soul.

“So, so,” he said in low tones that shook with passion, “now, my lady, will you still deny that this gentleman is in the neighbourhood?”

“Lady Eden,” I interposed, “certainly had no knowledge”

“Then,” he interrupted me fiercely, “to whom were you signalling yesterday when you were pretending to fish?”

“I wasn’t signalling to anybody,” I retorted hotly. “I was fishing.”

He looked at me, black with rage and hate and doubt, till his face seemed hardly human, while Lady Eden sat so pale and still by his side one might have wondered whether she breathed.

“Fishing for gudgeon, I suppose,” he sneered; “and what about the top of One Tree Hill at the usual hour after dark?”

I suppose my face changed as I recognised poor Hugh’s unlucky phrase, and I suppose he saw the change and took it for a confession of guilt. Without the least warning he leaned from the car and struck me heavily, before I could guard or avoid the blow, right on the chest. I staggered beneath the force of it, and with a cry like that of a beast he sprang from the car to the ground, and struck me over the head with a hammer or some such tool. It seemed to me a great darkness rose up to envelop me, and I thought I heard a sound of many waters, and then I knew no more.

When I came to myself it was quite dark, and I was suffering from a frightful pain in the head. Instinctively I tried to raise my hands to my head. I could not. Something checked them. What with surprise and bewilderment and the darkness I groaned aloud, and a soft voice said:

“Mr. Travers. Mr. Travers, are you alive?”

“Bertha—Lady Eden,” I muttered. “What is it? What has happened? Has there been an accident? Where are we?”

She made no answer to my mumbled questions. I tried to rise, but found I could not. I tried to lift my hand again, and again I could not. It seemed that I was held at throat and wrists and feet. I struggled again, but it was no use.

“My God,” I said, “what is all this?—what?—what? I’m chained,” I said in utter stupefaction and bewilderment. “Oh, I’m chained,” I said again. “Chained!”

“So am I,” her soft voice answered me from the darkness, and a cold thrill of horror and dismay ran through my body.

I think it was a minute or two before I mustered strength to speak again.

“Who has done it?” I asked then, though I knew well enough.

“Roger,” she answered.

“Not you—you?” I asked in a whisper. “He has not dared”

“I am chained by the neck to the wall,” she answered, quite quietly.

“He shall pay for it,” I muttered, hot now with rage. “Where are we, then?” I asked.

“Under the west wing,” she answered in the same quiet tones. “You know there is a story of an old dungeon here, where it is said some prisoners were confined after Monmouth’s rebellion? Well, I think that is where we are.”

“But what for?” I stammered.

“I think he is going to kill us both,” she answered in the same quiet and matter-of-fact tones, and I had nothing to answer her, for, indeed, I thought so, too.

I began to struggle to see if I could free myself. But I was well secured. There was a great rusty iron ring fastened in the wall, looking as if it had been there for three or four centuries, as very likely it had. To this I was fastened by a strong iron chain round my neck. Further, my hands and feet were both secured with handcuffs, and the connecting links of each pair of fetters were fastened to another heavy chain, the end of which was fixed to a stout stake driven into the ground, between two of the stone slabs forming the floor on which we lay. Bertha heard me struggling, and said in her quiet voice:

“It is no use—he has fastened us both quite securely.”

My eyes were beginning to grow accustomed to the darkness. I made out now that we were confined in a large vaulted apartment, about twelve feet square. I was secured at one end, Lady Eden at the other end, just opposite to me. Our chains gave us a bare two feet of liberty, so that we could not so much as reach each other to touch hands. I could just make Bertha out, crouching down against the opposite wall, near a recess about six feet high and a foot deep. I lay still for a little, trying to realise our position, and what it meant.

“He’ll never dare” I muttered to myself.

“I do not think there is much hope for us,” Bertha said quietly.

“What happened?” I asked. “I don’t remember.”

“He had an iron bar in his hand,” she answered, “and he hit you with it—I thought you were dead. I screamed, and he muffled a big cloak round me so that I could not make a sound or stir, and then he lifted you into the car and drove us here. It was quite dark then, and there is a private way into the west wing through an old door well hidden by trees. He carried me down first, and fastened me to the wall like this, and then he brought you down. I think this is that old dungeon, and he will kill us here, and nobody will ever know—ever.”

She began to cry, and I did my best to comfort her, though indeed I hardly knew what to say. In a way it seemed dream-like and unreal, and yet I never doubted its reality, only I had an idea that it was all happening to some one else, and that I myself was just looking on.

“But then,” I said presently, “he can’t keep us here for long—we shall be missed; there will be inquiries.”

“He will pretend we have gone away together; he will tell everybody that, and everybody will believe him,” she answered slowly.

Again I had nothing to say. Already my disappointed guests at the Savoy would be wondering where I was. On the morrow it would be reported that I was missing, and that Lady Eden was missing—London’s easy scandal would do the rest. If we were looked for, it would not be under the ruined west wing of Sir Roger's place that people would search for us.

After a long time—at least it seemed to me long—the door of our prison opened, and Sir Roger himself came in. He had a lantern in his hand, and he stood and looked at us with a dark smile. I saw Lady Eden shudder, and then grow very still beneath his evil, cruel gaze, but I broke out into a wild torrent of threats, protests, promises, even entreaties.

He stood listening in silence. His very silence made me understand how useless words were.

“Let me tell you the whole truth,” I said at last in despair, and I told him of Hugh’s visit to me, and of what we had arranged together.

“So you see,” I concluded, “what was done was arranged just by us two—Lady Eden knew nothing about it—nothing.”

“Liar,” he answered softly, and then he put his lantern on the ground and walked away.

“What is he going to do?” I asked when he had gone, and I was very greatly afraid, for his voice, his manner, his eyes, these had all been deadly.

Lady Eden did not answer me. I saw by the lantern’s feeble ray that her lips were moving, and I knew that she was praying.

Sir Roger returned, wheeling before him a barrow full of bricks.

While I stared, wonderingly, he deposited the bricks near the high, narrow recess I have mentioned, close to the spot where Lady Eden crouched motionless on the floor.

For about half an hour or so Sir Roger employed himself in wheeling barrow-loads of bricks into our prison, and placing them all in the same spot, till there was a great heap of them near the recess. He brought mortar, also, and various tools, and during the whole time he took no notice of us, nor spoke one single word. When he had deposited his last barrow-load he went away, taking the lantern with him, and leaving us in darkness again.

“Lady Eden,” I called.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“What is he going to do? What has he brought all these bricks for?”

She gave me no answer, and I did not repeat my question. I think I dared not, even though I could not imagine what the meaning of Sir Roger’s conduct might be. I tried to think he must be mad, but there was a settled and deliberate purpose about all he did. Before long the door opened, and Sir Roger appeared once more, carrying with him a loaf of bread and a jug of water, and these he placed within the recess near Lady Eden. This recess began now to seem to me to be invested with some strange and terrible and unknown purpose, so that I looked at it with fear.

I broke out again into a storm of anger and protest, and then of wild entreaty, but still he paid me no attention. He took off his coat, and started to work, first digging a shallow foundation, and then beginning to build a wall right across the recess. Evidently he intended to brick it up. I wondered why?

He worked with ease and rapidity, as though he were a builder by trade, and indeed he was one of those men who seem to have a natural aptitude for any handicraft.

By the lantern’s flickering ray I could just see Lady Eden crouching down on the ground, the chain that fastened her to the wall shining in the lantern’s light. Opposite to her I lay, securely fettered, yet still sometimes vainly struggling to free myself, and between us Sir Roger worked on at his mysterious building. As he moved over his work he made in the dim light vast and fantastic shadows upon the walls of our prison, shadows that came and went and vanished wonderfully into the great patches of blackness lying in each corner.

Why was he building this wall across that tall and narrow recess?... What strange purpose had he in his mind?... Why had he placed bread and water within the space he was so steadily walling up?

I fell again to trying to free myself from my fetters. Sir Roger heard my struggles, and turned to look at me and smile.

“The strongest dog chains I could buy, in London,” he observed; “you won’t break them, you dog.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “I warn you”

“Oh, you shall soon see, you your warnings,” he answered, turned to his building again.

He worked on till he had the wall about eighteen inches high, and then he paused and rose to his feet.

“It was fortunate they were doing some building work here,” he remarked. “I found all my materials ready to my hand.”

“They will be missed in the morning,” I said.

“Oh, in the morning I shall pay the men and send them straight off,” he answered. “A distressed husband wondering what has become of his wife is not expected to take any interest in and building and repairing.”

He crossed over to Lady Eden and told her to stand up. She obeyed him, and, taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he released her from the chain by which she had been secured.

“Will you step this way?” he said to her with a terrible politeness.

She shuddered, but obeyed, and he led her to the recess, to the foot-and-a-half-high w2ll he had built across it.

“May I trouble you to step over the wall ... within the recess?” he asked.

She obeyed him mechanically, like one in a dream. Indeed, I do not think she was quite conscious of what she did. I think she was in a kind of dazed state, only knowing that she had to do what he said, since he was so much stronger.

As for me, I lay like one paralysed. It is literal truth that I had no longer the power to speak.

Lady Eden was now standing within the recess, the wall which her husband had built hiding her to above the knees. She had her hands crossed on her breast, and stood quite still. I could not see that she trembled even once. But her face was terribly pale, and she might have been already dead by the pallid fixity of her countenance. Sir Roger stooped, and began to go on with his building.

Till he had built the wall another foot or so I watched in silence; but when it had reached nearly to her waist, I began to laugh.

“This is all very well for a joke,” I said, “but tell me what you mean to do?”

“I mean,” he answered, “to inflict on my wife, who has broken her vows, the punishment they used to inflict on nuns who broke their vows. I am going to brick her up in this wall, and you I shall keep chained there—to watch; you shall sit there and watch the wall, and think of her behind it, and I will come, sometimes, and keep you company, in case you grow lonely.”

Then he went on with his work, and I watched for a time, and then I think a kind of fit of madness took me. I know I screamed a long time, and two of my teeth are broken to this day, where I tried to bite my chain in halves. When I began to recover consciousness and looked again, Lady Eden was hidden to her breast—the wall had grown till it hid her to her breast.

I lay and watched, and Sir Roger still built on—only a little now and she would be hidden entirely, only a little more and the wall he was building would reach to the roof.

But I noticed that he was growing less composed. After all, he, too, was human—a man. I suppose the horror of what he was doing worked on him also. Once or twice he turned and cursed me, and several times he fumbled in his work. I dare say it would have had less effect on him if Lady Eden had struggled or pleaded for mercy, but she stood there perfectly motionless, her hands crossed on her breast—without a struggle, without uttering one murmur or one protest. Once in placing a brick in position Sir Roger dropped it, and it fell on his foot. He cried out with the pain and swore, and I laughed, I was so glad. It seems inconceivable even to me, but it is none the less truth, that even in that moment and in that position a thrill of quite childish joy ran through me over this trivial hurt to Sir Roger’s foot. I positively glowed with delight, and I fell to mocking him with a bitter tongue, and he turned, his face distorted with rage, and limped across to me and kicked me.

“You be careful,” he stuttered, “or—or—or I'll”

He kicked me again, and to do so better he came within reach. He was a man of three times my strength and I was fettered, but when I saw he was within arm’s-length of me I had no doubt. I put out my hands and caught him by the ankle, and pulled him down. He struck me across the face with a blow whose mark I bear to this day, but, strangely enough, it was the fact that I was fettered that gave me my advantage. For somehow I got the the chain which connected the fetters on my wrists and ankles twisted round his neck. But for that I would have been no match for him, but now the more he struck and fought in the lantern’s dim ray the tighter drawn grew the chain about his throat, the more fiercely I twisted it. I shouted aloud with joy as I felt it sink into the soft flesh of his neck.

When I thought I had killed him I searched his pockets for the keys I had seen him use to free Lady Eden, and by them I soon released myself.

The wall hid Bertha to the neck now, and another eighteen inches would have seen it joined to the roof above. She still stood in the same attitude, the same fixed expression on her face. I do not think she realised in the least what was happening. It did not take me long to release her. As yet the mortar had not set, and it was an easy task to tear the wall down. When the gap was big enough I put my arms round her and drew her out.

She did exactly as I told her, just as before she had done what Sir Roger bade her. Leaving Sir Roger lying there—I hoped he was dead—we somehow or another made our way up out of the cellars into the fresh, open air. The first touch of the breeze on our cheeks was wonderful.

It was four o’clock, and perfectly dark and very quiet, and I thought it was no time to stand on ceremony. So I opened the door of Sir Roger’s garage and got out his small car, and in a few minutes we were off, without rousing one single sleepy servant. Of course, it was a main road, and motors often passed up and down, so I dare say any one who heard us thought nothing of it.

An hour later we were at her father’s house, where Hugh was sitting up in a state of great uneasiness and distress; for that his plan had miscarried he knew, but knew no more. How successful Sir Roger’s plans might have proved is shown by the fact that even Hugh had already begun to wonder if I had not played him false, and turned the sham elopement into a real one. Sir Roger’s tale would have won ready credence.

1 told my story to Hugh while her parents looked after Bertha, who was still very silent, but had begun to develop strange fits of trembling. I told Hugh I hoped I had killed Sir Roger, and that I thought of surrendering to the police. However, Hugh insisted on going back to see if he were really dead, and when we reached the place of our imprisonment the broken wall, the chains and handcuffs, were there to prove my tale true, but Sir Roger had vanished.

Later on he was found in his dressing-room with a pistol in his hand and a bullet through his head. Unable to bear defeat, and perhaps also dreading the consequences of what he had done, certain that he had at least lost Bertha for ever, he must have determined on putting an end to his life.

All the public ever knew was that Lady Eden had left her husband on account of his brutal conduct to her, and that thereupon he had shot himself. I do not think much sympathy was felt for him.

A year’s quiet and rest restored Bertha’s health after the serious illness from which she suffered. Those hours in that dungeon, the peril we had shared together, had seemed to bring us very close together, and when I repeated the question which I had asked her before, she did not say “No” again. It is now a year we have been married, and I think that the memory of the past is slowly fading from her mind.