Black Milsom made his appearance in the little village of Raynham immediately after Lady Eversleigh’s departure from the castle. But on this occasion it would have been very difficult for those who had seen him at the date of Sir Oswald Eversleigh’s funeral to recognize, in the respectable-looking, well-dressed citizen of to-day, the ragged tramp of that period.

While Honoria Eversleigh was living under a false name in Percy Street, Tottenham Court Road, the man who called himself her father, established himself in a little river-side public-house, under the shadow of Raynham Castle. The house in question had never borne too good a character; and its reputation was in nowise improved when, on the death of its owner, it passed into the custody of Mr. Milsom, who came down to Raynham one November morning, almost immediately after Lady Eversleigh’s departure, saw the “Cat and Fiddle” public-house vacant, and went straight to the attorney who had the letting of it, to offer himself as a tenant, announcing himself to the lawyer as Thomas Maunders.

The attorney at first looked rather suspiciously at the gentleman who had earned for himself the ominous nickname of Black Milsom; but when the would-be tenant offered to pay a year’s rent in advance down on the nail, the man of law melted, and took the money.

Thomas Milsom lost no time in taking possession of his new abode. It was the haunt of the lower class of agricultural labourers, and of the bargemen, who moored their barges sometimes beneath the shadow of Raynham Bridge, while they dawdled away a few lazy hours in the village public-house.

Any one who had cared to study Mr. Milsom’s face and manners during his residence at Raynham, would have speedily perceived that the life did not suit him. He lounged at the door of the low-gabled cottage, looking out into the village street with a moody and sullen countenance.

He drank a great deal, and swore not a little, and led altogether as dissolute a life as it was possible to lead in that peaceful village.

No sooner had Mr. Milsom established himself at Raynham, than he made it his business to find out the exact state of affairs at the castle. He contrived to entice one of the under-servants into his bar-parlour, and entertained the man so liberally, with a smoking jorum of strong rum-punch, that a friendly acquaintance was established between the two on the spot.

“There’s nothing in my place you ain’t welcome to, James Harwood,” he said. “You’re uncommonly like a favourite brother of mine that died young of the measles; and I’ve taken a fancy to you on account of that likeness. Come when you like, and as often as you like, and call for what you like; and there shan’t be no talk of scores between you and me. I’m a bitter foe, and a firm friend. When I like a man there’s nothing I couldn’t do to prove my liking; when I hate him —”

Here Mr. Milsom’s speech died away into an ominous growl; and James Harwood, who was rather a timid young man, felt as if drops of cold water had been running down his back. But the rum-punch was very nice; and he saw no reason why he should refuse Mr. Milsom’s offer of friendship.

He did drop in very often, having plenty of leisure evenings in which to amuse himself; and through him Thomas Milsom was enabled to become familiar with every detail of the household at Raynham Castle.

“No news of your lady, I suppose, Mr. Harwood?” Milsom said to him one Sunday evening in January. “Not coming home yet, I suppose?”

“No, Mr. Maunders,” answered the groom; “not to my knowledge. And as to news, there ain’t anymore news of her than if she and Miss Payland had gone off to the very wildest part of Africa, where, if you feel lonesome, and want company, your only choice lies between tigers and rattlesnakes.”

“Never mind Africa! What was it that you were going to say about your lady?”

“Well, I was about to inform you,” replied the groom, with offended dignity, “when you took me up so uncommon short as to prevent me — I was about to observe that, although we haven’t received no news whatsoever from my lady direct, we have received a little bit of news promiscuous that is rather puzzling, in a manner of speaking.”

“What is it?”

“Well, you see, Mr. Maunders,” began James Harwood, with extreme solemnity, “it is given out that Lady Eversleigh is gone abroad to the Continent — wherever that place may be situated — and a very nice place I dare say it is, when you get there; and it is likewise given out that Miss Payland have gone with her.”

“Well, what then?”

“I really wish you hadn’t such a habit of taking people up short, Mr. Maunders,” remonstrated the groom. “I was on the point of telling you that our head-coachman had a holiday this Christmas; and where does he go but up to London, to see his friends, which live there; and while in London where does he go but to Drury Lane Theatre; and while coming out of Drury Lane Theatre who does he set his eyes on but Miss Payland, Lady Eversleigh’s own maid, as large as life, and hanging on the arm of a respectable elderly man, which might be her father. Our head-coachman warn’t near enough to her to speak to her; and though he tried to catch her eye he couldn’t catch it; but he’ll take his Bible oath that the young woman he saw was Jane Payland, Lady Eversleigh’s own maid. Now, that’s rather a curious circumstance, is it not, Mr. Maunders?”

“It is, rather,” answered the landlord; “but it seems to me your mistress, Lady Eversleigh, is rather a strange person altogether. It’s a strange thing for a mother to run away to foreign parts — if she has gone to foreign parts — and leave her only child behind her.”

“Yes; and a child she was so fond of too; that’s the strangest part of the whole business,” said the groom. “I’m sure to see that mother and child together, you’d have thought there was no power on earth would part them; and yet, all of a sudden, my lady goes off, and leaves Miss Gertrude behind her. But if Miss Gertrude was a royal princess, she couldn’t be more watched over, or taken more care of, than she is. To see Mrs. Morden, the governess, with her, you’d think as the little girl was made of barley-sugar, and would melt away with a drop of rain; and to see Captain Copplestone with her, you’d think as she was the crown-jewels of England, and that everybody was on the watch to get the chance of stealing her.”

Black Milsom smiled as the groom said this. It was a grim smile, not by any means pleasant to see; but James Harwood was not an observer, and he was looking tenderly at his last spoonful of rum-punch, and wondering wi............