“Whatever for?”
I turned and stared angrily at her. “I’d my own reasons, the same as you have for living in this dump.”
She shifted her gaze to the fire. “Touché,” she said softly. “I only wanted to know—” She hesitated and then got to her feet. “I’ve some things here that belong to you.” She went over to a bureau and brought out a cardboard box tied with ribbon. “I couldn’t bring any more, but these things I know he wanted you to have.” She placed the box on a table near me. She hesitated, her hand still on the box. “You said your plan was to live up in the Kingdom?”
I nodded. “Yes, but that was before I knew there was a half-completed dam up there.”
“I see. So now you’re going to sell out and go back to England?”
I laughed. The sound was harsh in that pleasant little room, but it gave vent to my feelings. “It’s not so easy as that. I’ve rather burned my boats. You see, I’ve emigrated.”
“You’ve—” She stared at me, the thin line of her eyebrows arched in surprise. “You’re a queer person,” she said slowly. “There’s something about you I don’t quite understand.” She spoke more to herself than to me. I watched her as she went back to her Beat by the fire and sat there, gazing into the flames.
At length her eyes came round to my face. “What’s made you change your mind? When you came here you’d already turned down Henry Berg us offer for the Kingdom.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“Gossip.” She laughed a trifle nervously. “You can’t keep anything secret in this place.” She turned and faced me squarely. “I suppose Peter has been getting at you. And the old men—” There was anger and contempt in her voice.
She seemed to expect some sort of a reply so I said, “Well, I suppose from their point of view I am being a little unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable! Was it Stuart’s fault they went oil-crazy and bought up half the mountain peaks around here regardless of the geological possibilities, just because he reported a big oil seep at the head of Thunder Creek?” She leaned suddenly forward. “Do you think they helped him when things went wrong? When he was on trial in England for fraud, they swore out affidavits that he was a liar and a cheat. And when he came back here they hounded him up into the Kingdom, so that all the last years of his life were spent in solitude and hardship. When Luke Trevedian died, Stuart hadn’t a friend in Come Lucky. You owe the people here nothing. Nothing.” She paused for breath. “Now you’re here,” she added in a quieter tone, “don’t believe everything people tell you. Please. Check everything for yourself.”
She spoke as though I had all the time in the world. I passed my hand wearily across my eyes. “Am I to take it that you believe my grandfather was right?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. It was impossible to live with him for any length of time and not believe him. He had tremendous faith-in himself and in other people, and in God. He couldn’t understand that some people—” She stopped, her mouth suddenly a tight, hard line. “I met many fine men — during the war. But he was one of the finest.” Her voice died and she stared into the flames. “I want him to be proved right.”
“But what about this survey?” I said. “I understand it proved conclusively that there was no oil in the Kingdom.”
“Of course it did. Do you think Henry Fergus would have agreed to postpone his plans for a whole season without insuring that the results proved what he wanted them to prove? Before you do anything, go and talk to Boy Bladen. He’s here in Come Lucky now. Ask him what he thinks of that report.”
“But—” I stared at her. “I’ve already spoken to Bladen. He agrees with it.”
“He does not.” Her eyes were wide. “Ever since he saw the results of the first charge, he’s been as enthusiastic as your grandfather. It just isn’t true that he agrees with the report.”
“Well, that’s what he told me, and scarcely two hours ago.”
“I’ll talk to him,” she said. “He’s coming to see me this evening. There’s something behind this. I’ll send him straight over to see you when he leaves here.”
I was suddenly remembering the expression of violent anger on Bladen’s face as he had pushed past me on the steps of Trevedian’s office. “Yes,” I said. “Perhaps if you have a talk with him—”
There was a knock at the door and Miss Ruth Garret entered with a tray. “I’ve brought you some tea, dear.” Her sharp, inquisitive eyes seemed to miss nothing.
“That’s very kind of you.” Jean Lucas got up and took the tray. “Is Pauline still here?”
“Yes, she’s waiting for Mr. Wetheral.”
“We won’t he long.”
Miss Garret stood there uncertainly for a moment, her eyes fixed on the box on the table beside me. Then she turned reluctantly and left us.
“Poor old thing,” Jean said. “She just loves to know everything. Once they went as far as Prince George and saw the river steamers and the trains. That was thirty years ago, and I don’t think they’ve been out of Come Lucky since.” She glanced at the box beside me. “You’d better have a look at the things I brought down for you. It may help you to learn something about your grandfather.”
I took the box on my knees, slipped the ribbon off and lifted the lid. Inside, everything had been carefully wrapped in tissue paper. The objects on top were flat. There was a photograph of my mother as a girl of about twenty, and one of my grandmother. There followed several little velvet-lined boxes containing medals of the first World War. They included the M.C. and an old newspaper cutting with a picture of Capt. Stuart Campbell in the uniform of a Highland regiment. There were several other personal oddments, including a mining diploma, a little musical box with locks of hair in it, a regimental dirk of silver, a small set of ivory chessmen and a notebook containing some press cuttings.
As I laid them out on the table beside me, I said, “When did he give you these?”
“He didn’t give them to me. I brought them down myself. I knew what he wanted you to have.”
“You went up after his death?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“By the hoist?”
“No, the hoist wasn’t working then. There’s an old Indian trail. It’s only a day’s journey each way. I just wanted to be sure that everything was all right.”
“Is his Bible here, by any chance?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“He said there would be some papers with it.” I pulled it out and riffled through the pages. A single sheet of notepaper fell out. I stared at it, wondering where the progress report had got to. And then the contents of the note riveted my attention:
Dear Bruce: When you read this, the Kingdom will be yours. I shall not last the winter. And I have no longer the energy or the will to fight for my beliefs.
This day I have received the results of Bladen’s survey, I have it before me as I write, together with the consultant’s report—
I stared at the paragraph and read it through again. Then I looked across at Jean.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I thought he died without knowing the results of that survey?” I said.
She nodded. “Yes. I was so glad. In view of Boy’s reaction, he was very optimistic that at last—”
“He knew the result,” I said.
“But that’s impossible. Johnny was the last person up there, except for me.”
“Well, listen to this,” I said. “ ‘This day I have received the results of Bladen’s survey.’ ”
“But—” She was staring at me, her eyes wide. “When was it written?” She held out her hand. “Let me see.”
“It was written on the twentieth of November,” I said, “Johnny Carstairs found him on the twenty-second.” I passed her the sheet of paper.