Towards the evening of the next day Pattie Dale was an orphan.
CRAGG was in a serious dilemma. He had to tell his wife of the promise made to Dale, and he dreaded doing so. Not that Mrs. Cragg could prevent his carrying out that promise, but she had it in her power to make matters extremely disagreeable, as well for him as for Pattie. Like most men, not to speak of women, he disliked to have things made disagreeable. He preferred "peace, and a quiet life."
Still, the thing had to be done. Having made a promise, he had to let his wife know of that promise.
After leaving Dale he regretted having made it. That he should undertake to look after Pattie in a general way was all right, and only to be expected of him under the circumstances. So he told himself. But that he should have bound himself to adopt Pattie as a member of his own family was another matter, and perhaps unnecessary. For some hours he quietly debated how far it might be possible, if he should see Mr. Dale again, to modify the exact form of his promise, and to leave himself a little more free. Then he heard that Dale was unconscious, and likely to remain so; and then that his tenant was dead. So he remained bound to what he had said.
If only he had had his wits more about him at the time of the interview, he might have evaded saying what he had said. He might have pledged himself in more vague and general terms. It was true that he had been the unwilling cause of Dale's tragical end; but the very catastrophe which had rendered Pattie an orphan had also added to his own money difficulties.
There were heavy bills yet to come in for the building of a house, by which he could not hope to make a penny. And now he had saddled himself in addition with the support of a young girl.
All things considered, he really had been rather foolish; so he privately decided. He would not so much have cared about the expense, which probably would be slight, if only he had not had to tell Mrs. Cragg. There was the rub!
Thus far, nobody knew of the promise that he had made.
This suggestion darted into Cragg's mind, as he considered the state of affairs.
Nobody knew anything about it. The matter had been between himself and the dying man. It was most unlikely that Dale should have said anything to Pattie, since so very soon after he had been seized with unconsciousness. Therefore, Pattie would not know, and no one else could have any idea.
Of course, a promise is a promise, and Cragg would have counted himself the last man in the world to repudiate a promise—more especially a pledge to a dying man. Still, since no one knew what had passed, there was the less need for him to speak out. He had to act upon the promise, but he was not obliged to inform everybody about it. There was no necessity for him to explain all particulars to his wife. He might prepare her for what was coming. He might simply say that he meant to give Pattie a home for a time; and then Mrs. Cragg might grow fond of Pattie, or, at least, might find her of use.
That would certainly be the best plan. Cragg felt relieved. He had shrunk from the thought of telling, from the prospect of black looks and loud-toned reproaches.
It was within the bounds of possibility that Pattie herself might not wish to make a permanent home of his house. Cragg had undertaken to give her a home, so long as she should wish it. If she did not wish it, he would be freed from his bond. He was glad of that proviso. He rather doubted if anybody would care to live with Mrs. Cragg, after an experience of what such living meant.
Before he could feel at case, it was needful that he should find out from Pattie how much she knew. She was still at the cottage, where Mrs. Waters had managed to fit up a tiny room, and where Pattie wished to stay till after the funeral. Cragg had agreed without protest, being in no hurry to take her away.
When his cogitations reached this point, he went to the cottage, and found her seated in the kitchen, quietly sewing at a black gown. She had had a little money in hand—enough to get for herself what was necessary. Cragg talked to Mrs. Waters, and then intimated that he would like a few words with Miss Dale. Good-natured Mrs. Waters took herself off to other regions, without delay.
"My dear, I wonder if you can tell me anything about your father's means?" he began, having decided not to take anything for granted. "I have been wanting to ask this, and it is about time, you know, to settle something or other. After to-morrow—"
Pattie looked gravely in his face.
"I shall have twenty pounds a year," she said.
"From—invested money? I promised to act as your guardian, and I want to understand." She seemed puzzled.
"I don't exactly know. It was left to me by my father's brother—for life. Eighty pounds a year to father, for his life, and twenty pounds to me. It has always been paid regularly—by lawyers, I think. The eighty pounds goes somewhere else now, but I shall have the twenty still."
"But you and he couldn't have lived on only one hundred pounds a year."
"Couldn't we? A hundred pounds seems a good deal. And I meant to do needlework. I would have earned money in that way, and I mean to do it now. And dear father would have done copying—if he could have got any. Of course we have had more."
Cragg waited expectantly.
"I mean, we had more before we came here, when my father had a clerkship; he had two hundred a year for that. And we were very comfortable. We had everything we could want. Father was always talking of beginning to lay by, but he hadn't begun. And then he gave the work up."
"Can you tell me why he gave it up?—on what account?"
Pattie shook her head.
"I never understood. He didn't exactly tell me why. Only that Mr. Peterson had turned against him, and had said unkind things —things that were not true. Poor father was miserable. I never saw him so unhappy. He said one day that Mr. Peterson believed him to have done something wrong—something he never could have done. And he said he and I must come away, and must forget our friends there. We meant to live quietly in the country; and I thought we should manage on what we had—if I could take in needlework. Neither of us ate a great deal."
"And out of that he meant to pay twenty pounds a year house rent—not to speak of taxes."
"Was that too much? But it does not matter now." Tears filled her eyes.
"My dear, you must not think me unkind to say all this; it is— it is necessary. I have to understand your affairs. Did your father seem anxious about your future—or plan anything for you?"
"Sometimes. Not much."
"Not even since his accident?"
"I would not let him. There was no need. I told him I should be taken care of. There was no need for him to worry himself."
"And he was content to leave things so?"
Pattie put her work down, and once more looked up into Cragg's face.
"Would you have been content in his place—about a child of your own?"
Cragg was puzzled how to answer. He could not make out Pattie, and he found himself saying involuntarily:
"I wonder whether you are older than I have fancied?"
"I was sixteen on my last birthday."
"You were! Really! I have thought of you as only—well, about thirteen."
"No; I am sixteen. People have often taken me for less. Old enough to be independent." And a curious smile flickered over her small face.
"We must see about that. I am not sure. You would not find it so easy as you may think to make your way—unaided."
"No. But people would help me. People are always so kind."
"Are they?"
"Except Mr. Peterson,—and he had always been kind. It was only at the last that he changed. I suppose somebody had made mischief in some way. Somebody must have made him think what was not true of father. Yes, people are kind generally. You have been kind, and yet how little you know of us! When we first came you knew nothing at all."
"I hope I shall continue to be kind," Cragg said seriously.
"I am sure you will. And perhaps—perhaps—in a few days—you will help me to get something to do. I should like to find work. Needlework, perhaps,—or anything. I don't mind what." Her face flushed slightly. "I want to be independent."
"My dear, the feeling is most praiseworthy. But you must not be in a hurry. You are coming to us first. I told your father it should be so. You will come to us directly after the funeral."
"Not the same day."
"Then the day after."
"You say my father wished it?"
"Yes. He did wish it."
"Then I will do what he wished. But only for a little while."
"We shall see," Cragg answered.
So far, so good, was his thought as he went home. Pattie evidently had no idea of the full extent of his undertaking with respect to herself. Just as well that she should not know at present. He would tell his wife that she was coming for a while. If Pattie were bent on working for herself, the arrangement would not have to be permanent.
Cowardice seized him again, when he found himself in his wife's presence. He had meant to tell her as soon as he got in, and then he put off doing so until after tea. When tea was finished he still felt disinclined to speak, and he waited till Dot was brought in. Dot always devoted her small self to him for an hour before going to bed. With Dot on his knee he became more courageous, and Mrs. Cragg herself supplied an opening.
"So they are going to have the funeral to-morrow?"
"Yes; at two o'clock."
"Well, it's a good thing he didn't linger on in a helpless state. Nobody could have afforded that. What's going to become of the child?"
"Poo-ar lickle girl!" put in Dot appropriately.
"You should say 'little,' not 'lickle,'" reproved Mrs. Cragg. "It sounds so silly."
Dot hung her head.
"I do say lick-karl," she asserted impressively.
Now or never! Cragg knew he must speak out.
"I have asked Pattie Dale to come to us for a time," he said. "She—she is homeless. You see, my dear,"—nervously, for Mrs. Cragg's black eyes stared full at him,—"you see, her father's death is in a manner at my door. Of course I did not know about the mine. Nobody knew that. Still, if I had not built that unfortunate house, he might now be a living man. One can't help feeling a sort of responsibility in that matter—about his child, I mean. And so I felt sure you would wish— ahem—I felt that it was only the right thing to do."
"Of all born idiots!" uttered his wife energetically.
"Nay, my dear—"
"You mean to say you've had the folly to ask that girl here!—to this house!—to my house, Mr. Cragg! To ask her to stay here!—under my roof?"
Cragg felt tempted to suggest that he had a share in the said roof, but courage failed. He stroked Dot's hair, and Dot gazed with serene curiosity at Mrs. Cragg's red face.
"You mean to say that, Mr. Cragg?"
Cragg plucked up heart. After all, the thing had to be done. The more plainly he spoke now, the better matters would go in the future. It was only a pity that he did not at once tell the whole truth.
"I have asked Pattie Dale to come here to-morrow, and to stay for a time—in fact, as long as it proves necessary. She is a very nice girl, and you will find her useful in the house. I could not do less under the circumstances. And I expect, my dear, that you will make her happy."
"You expect?"
"I certainly do expect it, as part of your duty."
"I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Cragg!" And Mrs. Cragg again flounced out of the room.
PATTIE DALE was very young, and not much versed in the ways of the world. Nevertheless, she had eyes and ears, and she knew how to use them.
It had not escaped her attention, in these few days of trouble, that Cragg's kindness was all his own action, and not that of his wife. She had noted that he seldom spoke of Mrs. Cragg, that when he did speak, it was in a dubious and uncomfortable manner, that he brought no message of sympathy from Mrs. Cragg, that Mrs. Cragg never came with him.
Though she did not count it needful to tell him, she was not in absolute ignorance of what had passed between him and her father. A few minutes after her return to the sick-room, Mr. Dale had whispered feebly, "Lean down, dear. Listen to me, Pattie. That is a good man,—a good man! He will take care of you. He will give my Pattie a home—always—for always. He promised—promised me." Then, before Pattie could ask any questions, or could, if so disposed, make any protest, insensibility had come on. Those were her father's last conscious words.
None the less, Pattie thought things over. She recalled her impressions about Mrs. Cragg, and she decided privately that, whatever Cragg in his kindness of heart might intend, it was by no means certain that his wife would agree with him. She also thought that in any case she could not be content to live a life of dependence. If Cragg should offer her a home, she might go to him for a while, but certainly not for always. She fully meant to work for her own living. Sixteen is, however, young for making one's way in life, especially without previous training, and Pattie knew this.
Cragg did make the offer, and Pattie, while falling in with it, let him understand that she did not look upon the plan as permanent. She kept her own counsel, and would not show how much she knew. It seemed to her that he and she would both be more free, if he was unaware how much she had heard.
Mrs. Cragg on the day after the funeral was not very agreeable. She asked her husband no questions, but glowered sulkily. He told her after breakfast that Pattie was coming before night, and inquired where she was to sleep.
"How am I to know?" was Mrs. Cragg's reply. "I don't keep rooms for taking in of riff-raff."
"Pattie Dale is no more riff-raff than you and I are!" Cragg was roused to reply firmly. Things had reached a point when he would either have to set his foot down firmly, or to give way and break his word.
"I know what she is. I knew it the first moment I set eyes on those two."
"My dear, it really does not matter what you may imagine them to have been. Mr. Dale is dead, and I have—I intend to provide for his child, at all events until she can do for herself."
"You have—what?"
"I have made up my mind to do as much as that." Cragg wished now that he had been more open.
"There's the workhouse."
"She will not go to the workhouse so long as I can prevent it."
"She could get a place, I suppose—if she ain't too grand."
"My dear, Pattie is coming here for the present."
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"There's only one other way," Cragg said suddenly. "If she isn't happy here, and doesn't wish to stay, then I shall have to pay for her being taken in by somebody else. It will cost more, and I've none too much money to spare. But if things come to that, why, it will have to be, and we must save in another direction. So now I hope you understand."
"I always said you were crazy about those Dales." But it was plain that Mrs. Cragg did understand. The idea of drawing in elsewhere was, unwelcome; and she thought better of some previous resolutions. She had meant to make the arrangement so far unpleasant to Pattie, that Pattie would speedily wish to go. Since that scheme could only end in her having less money to spend, she began to take a different view of the matter. If Pattie had to come, the best plan would be to make use of the girl.
These ideas passed through Mrs. Cragg's mind. While Cragg was still meditating on his last words and on her reply, she had travelled miles ahead, and her next remark took him by surprise:
"Well, if it's got to be—though I don't hold with you, mind, and I think a man's first duty is to his own wife and children—"
"But not his whole duty, surely!"
"That's another question, Mr. Cragg. What I was saying was, that I think a man's duty is to his wife and children, and not to any sort of riff-raff he can pick up anywhere. But if it's got to be, it's got to be; and I suppose she can have that little room at the back, on the ground floor. It isn't wanted particular for anything else, I suppose?"
"It'll want making comfortable."
"People living on charity have no business to expect grandeur."
"My dear, if you would but be reasonable! Who spoke of grandeur? I simply wish the room to be made comfortable. In an hour or two I will take a look at it. A bed is easily put there, and—but I will see what is wanted. Pattie will not be here till late in the afternoon. I have promised to fetch her."
"As if she couldn't walk alone. What's the good of making a fine lady of her? Hasn't she got any furniture of her own? Why isn't it brought up out of the mine?"
"A few attempts have been made, but the things are so broken as to be almost useless."
"I suppose she can take her meals with the servants?"
"No, my dear. She will sit at table with us. I wish her to be one of ourselves. When you have learnt to know Pattie, you will feel as I do."
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"Well, if she comes here, she ain't going to be idle. I shall give her something to do."
"I am sure Pattie would wish to be useful. But she must not have hard work."
Cragg thought he had said enough, and he made his escape. Busy as he was, he did not forget to take a look into the small room, and it was owing to him that, when he brought her that afternoon, the said little room wore a cosy and comfortable appearance. Pattie glanced round with pleased eyes.
"How nice! What a dear room! I shall like to sleep here," she said gratefully.
Cragg wondered how she would like something else in the house. He had to present Pattie to his wife, and that meant an ordeal for himself, as well as for the unconscious Pattie.
Not that Pattie was so unconscious as he supposed. She had not the least expectation of a warm reception from Mrs. Cragg. And if her eyes did open rather widely at the first sight of the latter, it was not in surprise at the greeting vouchsafed, but in amazement at Mrs. Cragg's green velveteen jacket and red feather. Pattie's slim figure, in black skirt and jacket, with neat crape-trimmed hat, made an effective contrast.
"So you've come?" said Mrs. Cragg, looking her up and down.
"Mr. Cragg was so kind; he fetched me," Pattie answered, with a glow of gratitude.
"I'm sure I don't know how he managed it. He never has time to do anything I want. Always too busy."
"My dear, I really don't know that you have wanted anything to-day."
"If you had known, it wouldn't have made a grain or difference. You'd have had too much to see to, going off there."
Cragg looked apologetically towards Pattie.
"But I could have come alone," Pattie said quietly. "I dare say I should have felt a little shy, because I didn't know you; but that wouldn't have mattered. I could easily have done it. And then Mr. Cragg could have seen to whatever you wanted. I'm so sorry you didn't tell about it."
What could Mrs. Cragg say? There was no room for a sharp answer to Pattie's gentleness.
"And now you know my wife, I want you to know my little girl," Cragg said, delighted with Pattie's mode of meeting his wife's humour. He began to hope that things would go better than he had ventured to expect.
"Little Dot! I should like that so much. I love children."
"Here she comes!" exclaimed Cragg.
Dot made her appearance after her own fashion: calmly and deliberately, with small head held well up, and light-grey eyes widely-opened. She ignored her own relatives, and advanced straight towards Pattie. Then disappointment fell upon the infant mind.
"You'm not that poo-ar lickle girl. You'm drown-up,' she asserted.
"What a little darling!" murmured Pattie.
"All drown-up," repeated Dot, in profound disappointment.
"But I'm not grown up; truly I'm not. I am only a girl still, Dot. Not really grown up. And I love games of play. May I play with you sometimes? And I love reading stories aloud. May I read to you?"
"Pay glames and lead to me all day long," declared Dot, without an instant's hesitation. She seized Pattie's hand to draw her away.
"But, hallo, Dot,—you're forgetting me. Not a word for-poor old daddy!" protested her father.
Dot stopped and gave him a perfunctory kiss, then returned to Pattie.
"Pay glames and lead," she repeated. "Tome along."
Pattie looked at Mrs. Cragg.
"May I go?" she asked. "May I take care of Dot sometimes for you?"
Mrs. Cragg assented, not too graciously, and Pattie vanished, led by the fat little hands of Dot. Cragg looked at his wife.
"Well?" he said.
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"Well, I just say the same, Mr. Cragg. I hold that a man's duty is to his own, and not to a pack of strangers. But if she's got to be here, she may as well be useful. If she likes to look after Dot, she's welcome; so long as she don't spoil the child worse than she's spoilt already. You've done enough that way, I hope. There's no managing her when she hears your voice. Not a child in the town is worse spoilt than Dot. And I say it's a shame."
"My dear, she's an uncommon good child. Why, Dot never cries."
"If she don't cry, she gets her own way a lot too much. You're for ever fussing about her. And if Pattie Dale is going to do the same, she'll be unbearable."
"Come, come, my dear. If people want a grievance, they can always make one."
"I suppose you mean to say that I'm making a grievance, Mr. Cragg!"
Mr. Cragg had had that thought in his mind, but he wisely held his tongue, and ventured on no further remarks.
Pattie spent a happy hour with Dot. As she had said, she dearly loved children, and Dot, though not pretty, was clever and winning and lovable. Few children, indeed, fail to be lovable, and Dot was not one of those few.
Pattie had been feeling very sore at heart and desolate; and nothing could well have comforted her more than Dot's soft arms round her neck, and Dot's smiling face close to her own. Before ten minutes were over the two had become fast friends; and Pattie knew that, though life in this house might mean divers rubs, and perhaps a great many harsh words, it would also mean a dear little friend and companion.
When Dot went to bed, Pattie had to go to tea with Mr. and Mrs. Cragg, and that event she had been dreading. Still, it could not be escaped, and she was quietly brave in meeting the duties of life, one after another, without needless fears and complainings. At the sight of her placid face, Cragg was aware of a satisfied feeling. Tête-à-tête meals with a person of Mrs. Cragg's temperament were apt to flag, since five times in six she was sure to be offended at something said or not said. Pattie's presence made a change. Mrs. Cragg seemed to be under some slight restraint, and she was not quite so tart as usual; while Cragg had one to whom he could make remarks, which he found to be an advantage.
But when tea was ended, somebody called Cragg away, and Pattie was left alone with Mrs. Cragg.
Mrs. Cragg eyed her curiously, expecting to see signs of embarrassment. There were not any, however. Pattie looked tired and sad, but not embarrassed.
"Shall I help to clear away the tea things?" she asked. "I always did at home."
"Well, yes, you may as well, I suppose."
Pattie at once set to work, with light, dexterous hands which made no noise, and Mrs. Cragg idly watched her.
"What made you and your father come to this place?" she demanded.
A faint flush rose in answer.
"We were leaving our old home, and father wanted to live in a country place."
"What made you leave your home? Where was it? How long did you live there?"
"A great many years. Ever since I was a little child."
"Then why should you have come away?"
"Father wished it."
"What for?" Mrs. Cragg was not troubled by delicate scruples when she wished to gain information.
"He had lost the work he used to do. There was no need for us to stay there any longer."
"What sort of work was it?"
"He was an accountant in a small bank—a branch bank."
"Where? And what was the name of the bank?"
Pattie was silent.
"Where was it, I say?"
"I don't think I ought to tell you, Mrs. Cragg. Father wished me not to talk of those days to anybody. He told me so when first we came."
"What for?"
"We had trouble there. He had, I mean. He did not tell me all. He had done nothing wrong. It was not that. It was something he could not help. And when we came away, he said I was not to talk about our last home. So I would rather not, please."
"But if you live with us, child, we've a right to know. Why, dear me, what rubbish! How can I tell that you're a proper person to have in the house, if you won't say more, or a nice companion for Dot? I never heard such nonsense in my life! Of course you've got to tell whatever we want to know. Your father might have been—anything—" as Pattie's quiet eyes gave a slight flash. "There mustn't be any mysteries. I shall just speak to Mr. Cragg."
"I am afraid I cannot tell more," Pattie said gently. "I must do what my father wished—even now."
"You've got to do what I wish, if you mean to stay in the house—that's certain!"
"I must do what father wished," repeated Pattie.
"It isn't a question now of what he wished, but of what Mr. Cragg and I choose. If you're going to be here, you've got to be open and above-board. I can't abide secrets and mysteries. Don't you see, girl? Why, what do we know about you and your people? Haven't you got any uncles or aunts?"
"No; none."
"Nor any friends? It's they that ought to see after you. That's what I think."
"They don't know where I am. Father did not wish that they should. I am going to work for myself. As soon as possible I shall find something to do."
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"You look like it! Who'd take such a child as you? If you have friends, you ought to write to them—not expect to be cared for by strangers. I never heard of such a way of going on! Of course they'll want to know where you are. And if your father did anything wrong—"
"My father did nothing wrong."
"They wouldn't visit it on you, at any rate," finished Mrs. Cragg. "You'd best tell me and Mr. Cragg all about it, and then we can advise you how to manage."
Pattie was silent.
"Well! D'you hear?" asked Mrs. Cragg sharply.
"Yes. I am very sorry; I can't do as you wish."
"Can't do what?" said Cragg, coming in.
"Who was it you went to see?" asked his wife.
That turned Cragg's thoughts, and he put no more questions. But Pattie knew that Mrs. Cragg would not let the matter drop.
FURTHER efforts on the part of Mrs. Cragg to find out Pattie's past history did not begin so soon as Pattie had feared.
The greater part of a week passed, on the whole quietly. There were many ways in which she could make herself useful, and she seldom overlooked them. Dot, from the first, became her abject slave, never content unless following her about; and Pattie could not have too much of Dot. The two were soon warmly devoted each to the other. Cragg could almost have found it in his heart to be jealous, when he saw how readily Dot would at any time quit him to go to Pattie. But he loved little Dot with too real a love not to be glad of anything that was for the child's good, and he knew that Pattie's influence would be for her good.
Mrs. Cragg speedily did become jealous, just as she had always been jealous of the child's greater love for Cragg. Her love was of a lower and smaller nature than his. She always liked to be first for her own sake.
A few days after Pattie's coming to the house, young Waters called with a barrow full of goods, fished up out of the depth into which the building had sunk. No attempt had been made, or was likely to be made, to rescue aught from the greater depth, into which the main mass had poured; but a good many things had been brought up from the level where poor Dale himself had lain. Most of these were so hopelessly crushed and broken as to be worthless. This time, however, a small chest of drawers had been rescued, much damaged, yet with the drawers still full; and two boxes, one open, the other locked.
Mrs. Cragg scented a possible discovery on the instant. Mr. Cragg was away till dinnertime, and Pattie had started for a ramble with Dot, which was likely to keep her away at least another hour; so Mrs. Cragg felt safe. She had the things carried into an unoccupied room, told Waters to call again when her husband should be at home, and set herself to an examination. She was anxious to find out something as to Pattie's past, and for this purpose had already ransacked Pattie's room without avail. Here was a fresh chance.
The chest of drawers contained only clothes. Mrs. Cragg soon satisfied herself on this point. She rapidly pulled out the contents of each drawer in succession, returning the same with equal speed. Then she turned attention to the boxes.
The one which was open held only books. Mrs. Cragg glanced inside a few, to find upon the title-pages "J. Dale," or "Pattie Dale" nothing further. She would not waste more time in that direction. The other small box, very strongly made, was locked. Mrs. Cragg whipped out her bunch of keys, and tried one after another with eagerness. At first her efforts were useless, but all at once the lock yielded, a key turned, and the lid rose. Mrs. Cragg pulled it more widely open, and gazed upon the pile of papers within the box.
Across the top lay a large envelope, endorsed, "From Mr. Peterson," and at the head of the first letter inside was an address, "Sunnyside, Southville,—shire."
Mrs. Cragg looked through the letter. It bore a date two years before this time, and was very kind, even affectionate, begging Mr. Dale not to hurry back, but to take a few days' extra holiday if he felt inclined. Mrs. Cragg put that down and opened another. Much the same in kind. A third and a fourth still gave no information. Then she took up two or three more, and in one she found a difference. Instead of "Dear Mr. Dale," it began "Dear Sir"; instead of "Yours sincerely," it ended "Yours faithfully." Mrs. Cragg's eyes fell on a sentence near the beginning:
"Since you say that you have not done it, and declare yourself incapable of any such act, I can only reply that I sincerely wish things may be so. I have resolved not to prosecute, but it is impossible that I—"
The page ended here, and at this instant the opening of the front door awakened Mrs. Cragg to a sense of her position. She heard Dot's little shrill voice, and Pattie's softer tones asking somebody, "Where was Mrs. Cragg?" In a moment they might come in.
Mrs. Cragg had no strong objections to her present position from motives of truth and honour, but she did very much object to being found out, and she went hot all over with fright. There was no time to restore the letters to their envelope. She thrust them loosely into the box, shut the lid, turned her key with some difficulty, drew it out, and dropped the bunch into her pocket. Then she whisked across the room to an old chiffonier in the farthest corner, and made believe to be hunting in a drawer.
"Ma-ma!" cried Dot's little voice, as the two came in; "Ma-ma, I'se had a clumble!"
"Jane said you were here," Pattie added. "Dot fell down and hurt her leg, and so I brought her home."
"And I didn't cly, ma-ma, not at all," protested Dot. "Pattie said I was blave. And my leg hurted—oh, ever so much."
"Oh!" Pattie's face changed as she saw the chest of drawers and the boxes.
"Yes, those were brought by young Waters." Mrs. Cragg was too busy to look Pattie in the face. "I told him to put them here, and to come again to be paid. Rubbish mostly, I suppose. You'll have to see if they are worth keeping."
"Yes; thank you. I think I had better have them in my room."
"They'll lumber you up there."
"It doesn't matter. May I have something to put on Dot's leg?"
"How did she come to do such a stupid thing?"
"But I wasn't scupid, not one bit," declared Dot in an injured tone. "It was a dreat scupid dog what runned against me, and clumbled me down."
Pattie devoted herself to displaying and doctoring the grazed little leg. Dot talked vigorously all the while, with a goodly amount of self-praise on the score of her own courage. She was very proud of not having been betrayed into tears; and presently she stumped off, anxious to display her lameness to others. Pattie stood looking at the two boxes.
"That one's locked," remarked Mrs. Cragg, unable to let the matter alone.
"Yes."
"What's in it?"
"I don't know. It was my father's. He always had it locked. He kept his papers there."
"You'll have to read them now, of course."
Pattie was silent.
"You'll have to read them all now," repeated the other.
"I don't—know."
"Why, it's yours now. Of course it is. Whose else could it be? Don't you understand? You'll find out in that box everything your father didn't tell you."
Mrs. Cragg meant to awaken the girl's curiosity, but her words had a precisely opposite effect.
"Yes, perhaps. But I don't wish to find out anything my father did not wish me to know—anything he did not tell me."
"Really! I never did see such a girl. Why, everybody reads other people's papers after they're dead."
"Do they? I am not sure that I shall. At any rate, I shall not yet—not in a hurry. I think I will wait."
"There might be something or other that wants attending to. How do you know there isn't money inside?"
"No, he would have told me that."
"I suppose you've got the key?"
"I have—his keys." Pattie's eyes were full.
"And you don't mean to unlock it? You don't mean to see what is inside?"
"Not yet. I'll wait and think. I don't feel sure what I ought to do."
"Why, of course you ought to do what anybody else would do. As if it made any difference now—to him, I mean. Everybody does it always. The papers are yours, and you'll be expected to know what they are about."
Pattie moved towards the door.
"I should like to wait," she repeated gently. "It cannot matter to anybody except myself. I will have the things in my room—by-and-by."
"Well, I can only say I never came across such a girl!" declared Mrs. Cragg aloud, as Pattie went away.
THE sentence which Mrs. Cragg had read haunted her.
Not that she was able to recall the precise words. Her eyes had run over the lines hastily, and the fright of Pattie's unexpected return had left confused impressions. She was, however, disposed rather to magnify than to minimise what had been written, and one portion of the sentence recurred clearly, "I have resolved not to prosecute."
Then there had been something for which this Mr. Peterson might have prosecuted Mr. Dale. Something so serious in its nature, that Mr. Dale could have been had up in a court of justice, and possibly could even have been condemned to penal servitude. In which case Pattie would have been the child of a convict.
Mrs. Cragg leaped in a hurry to this conclusion, with very little to build upon. She found some gratification in it. Had she not taken a dislike to Mr. Dale at first sight? Had she not known by instinct that he was not a dependable person? Had she not warned Mr. Cragg to have nothing to do with him? Here was proof of her sagacity.
No very decisive proof, after all, when she came to think it over. Mrs. Cragg did not for a moment doubt her own sagacity, or the correctness of her own hasty conclusions—people of hasty and shallow judgment seldom do—but she was aware that the reasons which satisfied herself might not satisfy everybody. They would not, for instance, satisfy her husband. So she became impatient for further proof. The idea of reading that letter through took hold of her, and she argued with herself that she had a right to do so. She and her husband were giving Pattie a home—at all events for a time—and if Pattie refused to answer questions as to her past history, Mrs. Cragg had a right to find out what she wished to know in some other way.
So Mrs. Cragg stated to herself. She did not feel inclined to state the same to Pattie, nor had she the smallest intention of being discovered in the act of reading a letter not her own. Her "rights" would wear a different aspect at such a moment. She did, however, intend to see the letter again.
After all, she argued, it was only fair to Pattie and to Pattie's father that she should do so. Now that the notion was in her head, she could not get rid of it, and she might be doing an injustice to an innocent man. The rest of the letter would, of course, either confirm or destroy her impression; therefore it was desirable that she should read it.
Whether Mrs. Cragg believed this line of reasoning may be doubted. She said to herself that she did.
Difficulties thickened when she had made up her mind. During several days she could find no opportunity. Dot was unable to go out, except for a turn, on account of her leg, and Pattie seldom cared to go alone. She was willing to undertake any errand for Mrs. Cragg, but she always came back quickly. Besides, so long as Dot was to the fore, Mrs. Cragg had to be cautious. Dot might be too lame for a walk, but she was not too lame to go stumping about the place, poking her sharp little nose into every room in succession. If Dot's keen eyes should detect her "ma-ma" in Pattie's room, Dot's high-pitched voice would cheerfully proclaim the fact. Mrs. Cragg preferred to avoid this. She wished it not to be known that she ever went inside Pattie's door. So she had no choice but to wait.
Dot's leg mended, and at length a day came when it was decreed that she might venture on a good ramble. Pattie was to take her, and Mrs. Cragg fixed on a time of the day when no one else would be about. She saw them off the premises, waited for Dot's shrill little tones to die away, and then betook herself to Pattie's room, bolting the door inside. The box of papers was no longer where it had first been placed, under a small table. Mrs. Cragg took a look round, and went to the cupboard, within which she at once descried it, below a pile of cardboard boxes.
"What nonsense to put it there!" said Mrs. Cragg.
The cardboard boxes had to be dislodged, and then her own key had to be fitted. It turned easily, and Mrs. Cragg, lifting the lid, drew out the two or three letters which she had laid loosely at the top. As she did this, terror sent all the blood from her face.
For Cragg's voice sounded outside the room, calling:
"Dora! My dear! Where are you?"
Mrs. Cragg dared not stir, even to restore the letters.
"My dear!" called Cragg again; and then—"Pattie! Pat—tie, where are you?"
He rapped at Pattie's door twice, tried to open it, and rapped a third time. Another step then became audible outside, and Mrs. Cragg turned sick with fright. Could it be Pattie already? Somehow Mrs. Cragg's "rights" did not look so clear at that moment.
"Ann, where's Mrs. Cragg?"
Then it was only the girl, not Pattie. A revulsion of relief swept over Mrs. Cragg.
"I don't know, sir. I think she's gone out."
"And Miss Dale?"
"Miss Pattie's out with Dot."
"Does Miss Pattie always leave her door locked?"
"No, sir, she don't."
"You're sure Mrs. Cragg is out?"
"No, sir, I ain't sure. Only, she don't seem to be nowhere."
"Well, when she comes in tell her I want to speak to her."
The voices ceased, but Mrs. Cragg could not at once recover herself. She thrust the letters into her pocket, shut down the lid, and tried to turn the key. It would not lock so readily as it would unlock, but after several ineffectual struggles it gave way. Mrs. Cragg heard the click of the hasp with delight. She put the keys into her pocket, hastily lifted back the cardboard boxes, stood up, and listened. Steps again. Mrs. Cragg's heart went into her mouth. This time it was Pattie and Dot. No mistake about it.
"You'm doing to dive me that dee-ar lickle sodger, Pattie?"
"Yes, darling. I'll get my purse, and I'll buy him for you."
"He's dot a yed coat on, Pattie."
"Such a grand red coat," echoed Pattie.
Mrs. Cragg's heart stood still. Pattie turned the handle, and the door refused to open.
"Why, it is locked! How funny!"
"Ma-ma doned it," Dot said promptly.
"Why should ma-ma lock it, Dot? How funny!" repeated Pattie. "Something must be wrong with the door, I think. It seemed all right this morning. Well, never mind. I'll get you the red soldier by-and-by, when I can have my purse. We'll take another little turn now, till ma-ma comes home, and then we'll tell her about the lock. Come, dear."
Again the voices ceased. Mrs. Cragg strained her hearing to listen. She heard the front door open and close. Then she slipped out, shutting the door behind her, and fleeing upstairs to her own room. She would not attempt at once to read the letters in her possession, but put them into an under pocket, and hurriedly donned her walking things. On her way to the front door she encountered the girl.
"Please, 'm, Mr. Cragg wants to see yer."
"Where is he, Ann?"
"I dunno. He come all round, hunting for yer."
"Oh, well; I can go out that way."
"And he tried to get into Miss Pattie's room, and he couldn't open the door. She was out, and the door was fastened."
"What on earth could it have been fastened for?" asked Mrs. Cragg, trying to speak with indifference. She was conscious of failure, however, conscious of a very red face and a disquieted manner, and she saw, or thought she saw, that the girl eyed her curiously. She would have preferred to avoid an interview with her husband just then, but no doubt he would ask later if his message had been given, and she did not wish to arouse a spirit of inquiry. So she walked through the warehouse, hoping not to meet Cragg. Her hopes were vain, for she came plump upon him. Cragg looked up at her abstractedly, and then his gaze grew interested.
"Has anything happened, my dear?"
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head, and increased in redness.
"Anything happened! What should happen, I should like to know?"
"I thought you looked as if something was not right."
"Well, something isn't. I don't want to be kept here, wasting my time."
Mr. Cragg felt disposed to make a useless remark on the small amount of time thus wasted. He refrained because it would be useless.
"If you've anything to say, you can make haste. I want to go out."
"Ann told me you were out some time ago."
"That don't hinder me wanting to go again now." Mrs. Cragg flattered herself that she had avoided telling an untruth, not realising the falsity of that little word "again."
"Where have you been?"
"I haven't been far; I'm going farther now. Anything else you want to know? I've got no time to waste."
"My dear"—Cragg spoke nervously—"I want to show you this. I want to know if it really is yours, because if it is—"
He held up a bill before her eyes, and Mrs. Cragg shoved it aside.
"Really, Mr. Cragg, I haven't got time for bills this morning."
"I'm afraid you'll have to find time. It's a bill 'rendered,' you see. No items given. You must have had it by you, unpaid, for some time. And not only that, but you will have to find the money too, if this sort of thing goes on. I cannot meet such demands."
"Pooh, Mr. Cragg! A paltry fifteen pounds! And everybody knows what you're worth."
"A good deal better than I know it myself, most likely. What are the fifteen pounds for?"
"How should I know? Whose is it? Wakeforth & Co.? I suppose it is my green velveteen jacket, and—a few other things."
"Dora, you will have to make a change. I am not a rich man. My business has been less successful the last two years than it used to be. There are more rivals now, and younger men with newer methods. I cannot afford this sort of thing."
"And you must needs go and build houses that tumble down in a week and take up people that aren't your own!"
"The first was a mistake; the second was a duty."
Mrs. Cragg walked away, and Cragg, with a hopeless gesture, thrust the bill into his pocket. What could he do?
Some hours later, in the course of that same day, Mrs. Cragg sat alone in her bedroom. She had taken the precaution to lock her door. Mr. Cragg was still busy in the warehouse, and Dot was occupied with Pattie. She had waited till now to examine the letters, and all three lay upon her knee.
The first of the three which she read was as follows:—