Volume Two—Chapter Two.At Havre and London.Late on the evening of the day after the marriage in London, Markworth and his charge—lately his “sister,” nowMadame sa femme—arrived at the half-seaport town, half-fashionable watering place ofHavre-de-Grace, at the mouth of the slowly running Seine, tawny as the yellow Tiber.Susan had not been brought to the Continent without serious prior deliberation.Markworth, in the first place, wished to avoid observation at the present time; and he was so well-known in London, that he thought it would be folly to remain there any longer than necessary; and, in the second place, he wanted to secure a quiet retreat wherein to lodge Susan.He determined, of course, to keep his hold on her until her friends were assured of the marriage; and as she might be traced, and he, perhaps, arrested for abducting the girl, before he was able to lay a legal claim to her inheritance, the best plan for him to pursue was to “go across the water,” as he expressed it, for awhile—as, indeed, a good many other gentlemen, who have sympathising friends amongst the trading interests of the great city of Babylon-the-Less have done, and annually do still.What place so convenient, he thought, as Havre? So to Havre he accordingly ran over the next day, and in that pleasant little town he sat down awhile, to consider what his next movement should be, as he had to study each move carefully. He had plenty of money for present expenses; he had “the goose;” the only thing now to do was to get the “golden eggs.” As he had gone so far, he certainly was not going to be baulked now, he thought. And his chances must have been good, or that cautious old Jew, Solomonson, would not have “backed him.” He had only got to play his cards properly, and look about him awhile. That was all! Yes, that was all.He could not have chosen a more convenient and comfortable place in France, all things considered, for his purpose.Perhaps, an exceptional reader—I say “exceptional” advisedly—may have stopped at Havre after crossing over from Southampton—stopped a sufficient time to learn and know the place, for the generality of travellers who adopt this route to Paris, usually go on straight to their destination without breaking their journey at this picturesque old town, which is a sort of “half-way house” on the direct road. If so, the “exceptional reader” will bear me out in my observations on the subject and place.Havre is like Liverpool and Boulogne rolled into one harmonious or inharmonious whole. It has all the shipping and maritime population—although perhaps the latter are more gaily dressed—of the great entrepôt on the Mersey, with all the thorough Gallic attributes of a French watering place.Down in the town, Havre proper, it is all trade and bustle as befits a great commercial port; up amidst the heights of Ingouville, it is fashionable and fantastic, with its trim white terraces and green, gay Venetian blinds, and its lovely view of the bay beyond. Havre is really not considered half as much as it ought to be, and forms a much more enjoyable spot for a holiday than many of these fearfully uneventful and racketty fashionable resorts, which are generally patronised by English tourists on the Continent.Liverpool it is like, with its muddy Seine—like the other river that runs between Birkenhead and its sister city—and its bustling streets and quays. Liverpool, with a touch of Ratcliffe Highway, on account of the parrots and foreign birds, mostly South American, that you see troops of sailors marching about with, besides the strong touch of the military element which one more frequently observes by the side of Tower Hill, than in the parallel city of trade in Lancashire. A French Liverpool, very Frenchified, and jovial and gay, with that foreign dash of sprightliness andinsouciancewhich is never seen in England.Here Markworth hired lodgings, in theRue Montmartre, of a stout, middle-aged Frenchwoman and her little husband: the latter being amarchandof something or the other; and by no means the “better half” of the two.Susan was as pleased as a child with the novelty of everything around her; and if she had been changed for the better at The Poplars, the change was twice as noticeable now that she had shut out from her all the past with its associations.Every little item in her new life tended to increase the improvement in her mental organisation; besides which Markworth was kind and attentive to her, even more so than he had been before.Instead of the dingy old melancholy house in Sussex, she was in a bright little French cottage. The old dark rooms were exchanged for a simpleapartement bien garni, with its tiled floor, and those wonderfully simple accessories which complete the mobilier of our friends on the other side; the half dozen extraordinary-looking straight backed chairs, the round table with its matting beneath, the elaborate fire-place with its porcelain belongings, and the mantel-piece with inevitable gilt clock and china shepherdesses.The fat landlady was very kind, although she did not speak a word of English; still her husband prided himself on his knowledge of our language, a knowledge nearly limited to that of the Frenchman’s of poor Albert Smith’s acquaintance, who saying “Ah, Ya-as! I spik Englise—portair—bier—rosbif—God dam!” there wound up the catalogue of his accomplishments.But Mère Cliquelle was kind in her way. She understood from Markworth that “Madame” was very delicate; and as she had a separate room and looked very pale, Mère Cliquelle tried to make her very comfortable by always nodding to her, and smiling whenever she came into the room, which she was constantly doing to bring Madame sundry little pet-dishes or plats of her owncuisineand bonbonsad infinitum.Susan was soon very happy, and as gay as a bird in her new home. She had been sensible enough before; but she was now light-hearted as well.Markworth devoted himself to her. He would take her out constantly for walks along the bustling quays, where Susan liked to watch the gaily dressed sailors, and the ships and tiny craft in the harbour. Every sailor on landing seemed to bring home half a dozen parrots or crimson birds of the tropics. You never can see such a lot of “imported” birds, as the Americans say, anywhere else, as at Havre.Susan and Markworth were quite a study for the simple French couple with whom they abode. They thought “Madame” so beautiful and affectionate; and Monsieur, “Mon Dieu! un galant homme, andsohandsome:—a rich Milor Anglais, no doubt.”Thus a month had passed by; and Markworth thought that the time for him to act once more had arrived. His training had not been lost on Susan. Thanks to his indefatigable efforts she was now fully restored, and she would be the best witness he could have in court should he be forced to go to law in order to gain his rights to her money. He had indeed devoted himself to the girl’s cure especially for this object, but he had also been led on by a species of real zeal in the case. He had seen from the first how easily Susan, by proper influences, could be led to regain her mind, and had steadily persevered in that direction.If anyone else had spent as much time and trouble on her long ago, Susan would never have required his aid, but she had been neglected, left alone in that old house; and Doctor Jolly, with all his cleverness as a medical practitioner, had not understood her case.Markworth was proud of his triumph, apart from the consideration that his own well-being was interested in Susan’s recovery. He was proud that his hand had wrought the cure; and besides, he was really concerned about the girl on her own account. Her entire faith and confidence, and her blind worship, touched even him, while her love had made him have a friendly regard for her, which might or might not grow deeper.There were one or two good points in his character, as is the case with all bad men. He was not brutal, or naturally bad hearted, but at the same time he was careful of his own interests. If he had got Susan’s money, for example, he would not then have turned her adrift. She loved him like a faithful dog, and it was not in his nature to kick a dog away. He was kind to her because it suited his purpose: it was necessary to her cure, and besides he had no reason to be otherwise.At the end of a month, therefore, he determined to make some move.He had seen an advertisement for the lost girl in the “Times,” which he had given directions to have sent over to him here. The advertisement had appeared a very few days after the date on which he had removed Susan from The Poplars, and had been continued repeatedly since; but that did not flurry him much. He knew he could not be traced, and as the had no feelings of compunction for the anxiety which might be occasioned by her disappearance, he determined to suit his own time when to make the news known of her safety and present condition.He was certain that Clara Kingscott would not give any information about him, as she was a clever woman, and was obliged on her own account not to implicate herself in the abduction of the girl, and was besides anxious to get the remainder of the money he had promised her for aiding him; so he could afford to take his own time and play the game just as he chose, for the cards were in his hand.He thus let a month run, and Susan being quite happy and settled down in their comfortable lodgings with the Mère Cliquelle in the Rue Montmartre, he thought he would go over to London for a couple of days or so, and set his plans to work. He also wanted more money, and that was a potent reason for taking him.Susan was disturbed at first on learning that he was going away, but was as quickly consoled when he promised to be back very soon, and to bring her brother Tom with him; that was the only anxiety she had displayed on leaving her home. She had retained her love for her brother, and she feared he was angry at her leaving. She was delighted consequently to learn from Markworth, as he told her, that he was going to fetch him, for she was not yet aware of the great interests that hung at stake upon her.Susan saw him preparing to start with many tears, and many directions for him to be back soon; after which Markworth left her to the kindly care of the Mère Cliquelle, who promised to look after her as her own child: he then crossed the channel.He first visited his Hebrew friend Solomonson in Chancery Lane, whereby depositing sundry shares he had in a City Company, and giving a bond for about five times the amount, payable on his obtaining his wife’s inheritance, he managed to obtain an advance of some hundred pounds to carry him on until the lawsuit should be determined.Before coming to a final settlement, Markworth bargained some time as usual with the Jew, but had at last to accede to his terms; as it would have been difficult for him to get money from anyone else without stronger security. Indeed, the Jew only trusted him now because he was in a heavy venture, and because also, Markworth had always behaved honourably to him in his dealings before—and there had been many and various between the parties. But he would require sharp payment would the Jew with all his trust, and should he lose his case, old Solomonson would be the first to be down upon him.He was apparently, he reflected, spending Susan’s fortune before he got it; so he determined to set about securing it now as soon as possible.Having already perused several times the advertisement for Susan, he knew well where the lawyer’s offices were, where he was to apply, and he made up his mind to go there first before—as he called it—“tackling the old dowager.”To Bedford Row, he accordingly bent his steps; and he laughed jocosely, as he went up the staircase towards Messrs Trump and Sequence’s offices. “What a capital joke it will be,” he said to himself, “asking them for that ‘Fifty Pounds Reward.’ I’m hanged if I don’t do it;” and he walked in accordingly to startle Mr Trump.
Late on the evening of the day after the marriage in London, Markworth and his charge—lately his “sister,” nowMadame sa femme—arrived at the half-seaport town, half-fashionable watering place ofHavre-de-Grace, at the mouth of the slowly running Seine, tawny as the yellow Tiber.
Susan had not been brought to the Continent without serious prior deliberation.
Markworth, in the first place, wished to avoid observation at the present time; and he was so well-known in London, that he thought it would be folly to remain there any longer than necessary; and, in the second place, he wanted to secure a quiet retreat wherein to lodge Susan.
He determined, of course, to keep his hold on her until her friends were assured of the marriage; and as she might be traced, and he, perhaps, arrested for abducting the girl, before he was able to lay a legal claim to her inheritance, the best plan for him to pursue was to “go across the water,” as he expressed it, for awhile—as, indeed, a good many other gentlemen, who have sympathising friends amongst the trading interests of the great city of Babylon-the-Less have done, and annually do still.
What place so convenient, he thought, as Havre? So to Havre he accordingly ran over the next day, and in that pleasant little town he sat down awhile, to consider what his next movement should be, as he had to study each move carefully. He had plenty of money for present expenses; he had “the goose;” the only thing now to do was to get the “golden eggs.” As he had gone so far, he certainly was not going to be baulked now, he thought. And his chances must have been good, or that cautious old Jew, Solomonson, would not have “backed him.” He had only got to play his cards properly, and look about him awhile. That was all! Yes, that was all.
He could not have chosen a more convenient and comfortable place in France, all things considered, for his purpose.
Perhaps, an exceptional reader—I say “exceptional” advisedly—may have stopped at Havre after crossing over from Southampton—stopped a sufficient time to learn and know the place, for the generality of travellers who adopt this route to Paris, usually go on straight to their destination without breaking their journey at this picturesque old town, which is a sort of “half-way house” on the direct road. If so, the “exceptional reader” will bear me out in my observations on the subject and place.
Havre is like Liverpool and Boulogne rolled into one harmonious or inharmonious whole. It has all the shipping and maritime population—although perhaps the latter are more gaily dressed—of the great entrepôt on the Mersey, with all the thorough Gallic attributes of a French watering place.
Down in the town, Havre proper, it is all trade and bustle as befits a great commercial port; up amidst the heights of Ingouville, it is fashionable and fantastic, with its trim white terraces and green, gay Venetian blinds, and its lovely view of the bay beyond. Havre is really not considered half as much as it ought to be, and forms a much more enjoyable spot for a holiday than many of these fearfully uneventful and racketty fashionable resorts, which are generally patronised by English tourists on the Continent.
Liverpool it is like, with its muddy Seine—like the other river that runs between Birkenhead and its sister city—and its bustling streets and quays. Liverpool, with a touch of Ratcliffe Highway, on account of the parrots and foreign birds, mostly South American, that you see troops of sailors marching about with, besides the strong touch of the military element which one more frequently observes by the side of Tower Hill, than in the parallel city of trade in Lancashire. A French Liverpool, very Frenchified, and jovial and gay, with that foreign dash of sprightliness andinsouciancewhich is never seen in England.
Here Markworth hired lodgings, in theRue Montmartre, of a stout, middle-aged Frenchwoman and her little husband: the latter being amarchandof something or the other; and by no means the “better half” of the two.
Susan was as pleased as a child with the novelty of everything around her; and if she had been changed for the better at The Poplars, the change was twice as noticeable now that she had shut out from her all the past with its associations.
Every little item in her new life tended to increase the improvement in her mental organisation; besides which Markworth was kind and attentive to her, even more so than he had been before.
Instead of the dingy old melancholy house in Sussex, she was in a bright little French cottage. The old dark rooms were exchanged for a simpleapartement bien garni, with its tiled floor, and those wonderfully simple accessories which complete the mobilier of our friends on the other side; the half dozen extraordinary-looking straight backed chairs, the round table with its matting beneath, the elaborate fire-place with its porcelain belongings, and the mantel-piece with inevitable gilt clock and china shepherdesses.
The fat landlady was very kind, although she did not speak a word of English; still her husband prided himself on his knowledge of our language, a knowledge nearly limited to that of the Frenchman’s of poor Albert Smith’s acquaintance, who saying “Ah, Ya-as! I spik Englise—portair—bier—rosbif—God dam!” there wound up the catalogue of his accomplishments.
But Mère Cliquelle was kind in her way. She understood from Markworth that “Madame” was very delicate; and as she had a separate room and looked very pale, Mère Cliquelle tried to make her very comfortable by always nodding to her, and smiling whenever she came into the room, which she was constantly doing to bring Madame sundry little pet-dishes or plats of her owncuisineand bonbonsad infinitum.
Susan was soon very happy, and as gay as a bird in her new home. She had been sensible enough before; but she was now light-hearted as well.
Markworth devoted himself to her. He would take her out constantly for walks along the bustling quays, where Susan liked to watch the gaily dressed sailors, and the ships and tiny craft in the harbour. Every sailor on landing seemed to bring home half a dozen parrots or crimson birds of the tropics. You never can see such a lot of “imported” birds, as the Americans say, anywhere else, as at Havre.
Susan and Markworth were quite a study for the simple French couple with whom they abode. They thought “Madame” so beautiful and affectionate; and Monsieur, “Mon Dieu! un galant homme, andsohandsome:—a rich Milor Anglais, no doubt.”
Thus a month had passed by; and Markworth thought that the time for him to act once more had arrived. His training had not been lost on Susan. Thanks to his indefatigable efforts she was now fully restored, and she would be the best witness he could have in court should he be forced to go to law in order to gain his rights to her money. He had indeed devoted himself to the girl’s cure especially for this object, but he had also been led on by a species of real zeal in the case. He had seen from the first how easily Susan, by proper influences, could be led to regain her mind, and had steadily persevered in that direction.
If anyone else had spent as much time and trouble on her long ago, Susan would never have required his aid, but she had been neglected, left alone in that old house; and Doctor Jolly, with all his cleverness as a medical practitioner, had not understood her case.
Markworth was proud of his triumph, apart from the consideration that his own well-being was interested in Susan’s recovery. He was proud that his hand had wrought the cure; and besides, he was really concerned about the girl on her own account. Her entire faith and confidence, and her blind worship, touched even him, while her love had made him have a friendly regard for her, which might or might not grow deeper.
There were one or two good points in his character, as is the case with all bad men. He was not brutal, or naturally bad hearted, but at the same time he was careful of his own interests. If he had got Susan’s money, for example, he would not then have turned her adrift. She loved him like a faithful dog, and it was not in his nature to kick a dog away. He was kind to her because it suited his purpose: it was necessary to her cure, and besides he had no reason to be otherwise.
At the end of a month, therefore, he determined to make some move.
He had seen an advertisement for the lost girl in the “Times,” which he had given directions to have sent over to him here. The advertisement had appeared a very few days after the date on which he had removed Susan from The Poplars, and had been continued repeatedly since; but that did not flurry him much. He knew he could not be traced, and as the had no feelings of compunction for the anxiety which might be occasioned by her disappearance, he determined to suit his own time when to make the news known of her safety and present condition.
He was certain that Clara Kingscott would not give any information about him, as she was a clever woman, and was obliged on her own account not to implicate herself in the abduction of the girl, and was besides anxious to get the remainder of the money he had promised her for aiding him; so he could afford to take his own time and play the game just as he chose, for the cards were in his hand.
He thus let a month run, and Susan being quite happy and settled down in their comfortable lodgings with the Mère Cliquelle in the Rue Montmartre, he thought he would go over to London for a couple of days or so, and set his plans to work. He also wanted more money, and that was a potent reason for taking him.
Susan was disturbed at first on learning that he was going away, but was as quickly consoled when he promised to be back very soon, and to bring her brother Tom with him; that was the only anxiety she had displayed on leaving her home. She had retained her love for her brother, and she feared he was angry at her leaving. She was delighted consequently to learn from Markworth, as he told her, that he was going to fetch him, for she was not yet aware of the great interests that hung at stake upon her.
Susan saw him preparing to start with many tears, and many directions for him to be back soon; after which Markworth left her to the kindly care of the Mère Cliquelle, who promised to look after her as her own child: he then crossed the channel.
He first visited his Hebrew friend Solomonson in Chancery Lane, whereby depositing sundry shares he had in a City Company, and giving a bond for about five times the amount, payable on his obtaining his wife’s inheritance, he managed to obtain an advance of some hundred pounds to carry him on until the lawsuit should be determined.
Before coming to a final settlement, Markworth bargained some time as usual with the Jew, but had at last to accede to his terms; as it would have been difficult for him to get money from anyone else without stronger security. Indeed, the Jew only trusted him now because he was in a heavy venture, and because also, Markworth had always behaved honourably to him in his dealings before—and there had been many and various between the parties. But he would require sharp payment would the Jew with all his trust, and should he lose his case, old Solomonson would be the first to be down upon him.
He was apparently, he reflected, spending Susan’s fortune before he got it; so he determined to set about securing it now as soon as possible.
Having already perused several times the advertisement for Susan, he knew well where the lawyer’s offices were, where he was to apply, and he made up his mind to go there first before—as he called it—“tackling the old dowager.”
To Bedford Row, he accordingly bent his steps; and he laughed jocosely, as he went up the staircase towards Messrs Trump and Sequence’s offices. “What a capital joke it will be,” he said to himself, “asking them for that ‘Fifty Pounds Reward.’ I’m hanged if I don’t do it;” and he walked in accordingly to startle Mr Trump.
Volume Two—Chapter Three.The Next Morning.Just about the time when the curate of St. Catherine Cross’ Church, in London, was asking Markworth whether he would take this woman, M. or N., to be his wedded wife, the dowager and the inhabitants of The Poplars awoke to the certainty that Susan had really gone off somewhere without leaving a trace behind.She had not come to breakfast; she had not been seen about the premises or in the garden; she had not come into the house or slept in her bed all night; where on earth could she be? It was time, indeed, that some search or enquiry should be instituted.No time was to be lost!The old dowager was fearfully excited on being made certain of Susan’s disappearance.She would not believe it at first; and, saying “It’s all stuff and nonsense, the girl’s hidden somewhere, I know,” was not convinced until she had herself in person searched, every nook and cranny in the old house from top to bottom.It was the first time that she had really showed any anxiety about the girl, for the old woman was very much troubled indeed. She was shrewd and business-like as usual, however, in her enquiries, and first examined everybody in the house before carrying the search further.Miss Kingscott, the governess, said she had not seen her since the middle of the previous day, and she had supposed at first that she had gone out to walk with Mr Markworth. She had found out afterwards, however, that that gentleman had driven off early along with “poor Mr Thomas,” she believed, towards the station, and so her pupil could not have gone to walk with him.Miss Kingscott afterwards informed Mrs Hartshorne that she missed out of her wardrobe a black silk dress, and a shawl and bonnet. She supposed Susan had taken those with her, as her own walking things had been left behind in her, Miss Kingscott’s, room. The old lady said snappishly that “she did not know what right she, the governess, had to suppose anything of the sort;” but she kept the information in her mind nevertheless.The old servant, Martha, said she had not seen Miss Susan at all, as “she had too much work of her own in the kitchen for her to do, as was a disgrace for only one servant in sich a large ’ouse as she never see, and it were a burnin’ shame it were a workin’ one pore old woman worse nor any black nigger slave as ever was, that it were:” so no information was obtained from her.George, on being summoned in to speak to the “old un,” as he called the dowager, said that he had been “at work all t’day a diggin on t’petatus,” and he had seen “no leetel miss” about the garden, but he “thort he seed un when he wor a goin’ to his dinner, jist arter twelve, awalkin’ in the far lot across t’fields with that gentelmun froom Lunnon, but he warn’t shoor.”The old lady called him “an ass and a grinning baboon” for his pains, and told him “get out and go to your work, man!” But George was right, for he had seen them as he said, when on his way back to the house after his visit to the “Jolly Spades,” although his vision was then somewhat hazy, and his intellects more obtuse than usual from the large potations of home-brewed he had taken at such an early hour of the day—thanks to Miss Kingscott’s liberality to him. The dowager was perplexed, but her cool, calculating temperament was soon at work.She determined to send at once to her lawyers in London, and calling in the aid of the police to track the fugitive.Doctor Jolly, too, who came in at this moment to see after Tom—rather earlier than usual for his professional call, but he was anxious about his patient—warmly applauded the dowager’s resolve.He, of course, was also startled at the news that Susan had not been heard of. “Bless my soul!” he said, when all the facts and enquiries that had been made were explained to him. “Bless my soul! It’s very strange, very strange, indeed. She could not have stopped anywhere in the neighbourhood, or you would have heard of her before. She must have gone off to some distance. Did she have any money with her?”“Oh, no!” said Miss Kingscott, to whom he had addressed himself.“Fool!” spoke out sharply the dowager.“Why, is it likely that I would give any of my hard-earned money to an idiot to throw away?”The doctor confessed the improbability of Mrs Hartshorne’s disposing of her surplus funds in the manner suggested, although he was somewhat indignant at the strong epithet applied to himself: he was, however, too much interested on Susan’s behalf to cavil now about words with the old lady.“Have you asked about her in the village and at the station?” he said, after reflecting a minute or two.“What is the use of that?” replied the dowager; “all the people know about her at Hartwood, and would have stopped her. But you can ask yourself presently, if you don’t mind going down there.”The doctor said he would; and the plan of the dowager, he thought, would, in the meantime, be the best one to pursue.“Yes,” said Mrs Hartshorne; “I shall send up to Mr Trump, in London, at once, and put the matter in his hands. He is a lawyer, and he will know what is best for us to do. I can’t say I’m very fond of the girl,” observed the dowager, drily, to which Doctor Jolly gave a decidedly affirmative nod; “but I would not like her to come to any harm. But who shall I send? Can you go?”“Bless my soul!” replied Doctor Jolly. “I would go at once, but there’s poor Tom; I can’t leave him, for he’s in a very ticklish state.”“True—true; poor Thomas! It’s a pretty kettle of fish, all this happening just now.”“Let me go, ma’am,” said Miss Kingscott, quietly.“You!” snapped out the old lady. “What’s the good of a girl like you going? What can you do?”“I’m sure a girl can be as good a messenger as anyone else, and I can go at once,” answered the governess, calmly; “indeed I’m so interested in my poor pupil, that I should like to do something towards finding her.”“Humph!” grunted the dowager, thinking it over.“Certainly,” put in the doctor; “certainly, madam. Bless my soul! I should like to know why not?”The thing was agreed to after some further conversation, and Miss Kingscott, charged with a curt epistle from the dowager, and a supply of money from the doctor’s own purse—the old lady had not hinted at producing any, and did not advance any demurrer to his so doing—for paying her expenses on the road, was directed to go to Hartwood Station. She was to ask there whether they had seen Susan, and if she heard no intelligence, she was to proceed direct to London; there she was to call on the lawyers without losing time, explain the whole matter to Mr Trump, and tell him to come down at once—indeed, she was to bring him down with her if she could.The governess obeyed her instructions to the letter, and acted all through as if she was as ignorant about Susan’s disappearance and her movements as she had professed to be.She asked about Susan in the village, in order that if any enquiries were made she could substantiate her statement of ignorance. Of course, nobody had heard there of the missing girl, as she very well knew would be the case. She then went on up to London by the next train, and proceeding at once to the offices to which she was directed, she handed the old lady’s letter to the senior partner.In the meantime, Doctor Jolly was attending to poor Tom’s wounds; the wounded hero had passed a very bad night, and was feverish and excitable.The doctor, who had his suspicions about Markworth, asked one or two guarded questions of Tom as to the whereabouts of his friend. He had been surprised at not seeing the exquisite at Lady Inskip’s pic-nic: with his downright common sense, aided by his dislike and suspicions of Markworth, he thought that there must be some connection at first between Susan’s disappearance and the absence of the other.Tom’s answers to his questions, however, fairly puzzled him, and the doctor was thrown off the scent entirely.Tom said, in reply to one of the doctor’s casual enquiries, that he had driven Markworth over to Hartwood Station himself before he had gone on to the pic-nic. That his friend had been suddenly summoned up to town the previous morning, and that he expected him back very shortly, as he said he might not be detained long; although Tom added, “he had taken his traps with him.”“Oh, he has? has he!” answered the doctor. “Well, I daresay we’ll have him down soon again though, and then you will be able to get about again with him.”He cheered up Tom, who was very crestfallen and hippish with the pain he had undergone, and the thoughts of being kept a prisoner in bed whilst he so much wished, particularly now on account of Lizzie, to be able to move about.“Bless my soul!” said the old fellow, cheerfully, as he went out, “why, you will be right again in a jiffey. We have got all that beastly shot out of you, and the place is healing beautifully. I tell you what I will do, too, Master Tom,” he added, nodding his head knowingly, with a twinkling of his kind grey eyes—“I’ll tell a certain little girl how we are getting on; I know she will feel interested!”“Thank you, doctor; you’re a trump, by Jove!” said Tom, gladly, “and give her my compliments.”“Hang your compliments, you young rascal; I’ll give you her love when I come back!” and the doctor laughed himself with a cheery ho! ho! ho! out of the room, down the staircase, to the dining-room below, where Mrs Hartshorne—the old lady looking quite broken already from the anxiety she had gone through—was waiting to hear his report about Tom.They had decided not to tell him yet about Susan in his present state—not, at all events, until the lawyer came down.The doctor said Tom was doing very well, although excitement would be bad for him; and then went out to pay some calls around, promising to call back in a few hours’ time.You may be sure he did not forget, with his kind heart, to call round at the Pringles, where he found little Lizzie listening anxiously for his approach, for he had promised her last night to come and give the news about Tom.She eagerly thanked him for coming and for his good news, and coyly gave the doctor permission to take back her love to Tom: of course, she was as much surprised as the doctor was to hear of Susan’s disappearance, and her sympathies were quite aroused when he told her how broken the old lady seemed under the double trouble she was suffering under.Lizzie immediately offered to go up and see her, not knowing her general disposition so well as our friend Aesculapius; but he told her that it would be useless, and that nothing could be done until the lawyer and the detective arrived from London. Lizzie was doubly anxious about Susan for Tom’s sake: it is wonderful the interest that young ladies take in the sisters and other relatives of young gentlemen for whom they may entertain regard! But Lizzie could do nothing, and was even more useless in the juncture than the dowager had at first supposed the governess to be when she offered to make herself useful.After paying his round of calls, the doctor returned to The Poplars, some three hours or more from the time of his setting out: and he and the dowager then sat down in sympathy and mutual anxiety together in the parlour, for the first time in their respective lives, to wait for the return of Miss Kingscott from her mission to London.Thus the hours passed by, the day after Susan Hartshorne’s elopement.
Just about the time when the curate of St. Catherine Cross’ Church, in London, was asking Markworth whether he would take this woman, M. or N., to be his wedded wife, the dowager and the inhabitants of The Poplars awoke to the certainty that Susan had really gone off somewhere without leaving a trace behind.
She had not come to breakfast; she had not been seen about the premises or in the garden; she had not come into the house or slept in her bed all night; where on earth could she be? It was time, indeed, that some search or enquiry should be instituted.
No time was to be lost!
The old dowager was fearfully excited on being made certain of Susan’s disappearance.
She would not believe it at first; and, saying “It’s all stuff and nonsense, the girl’s hidden somewhere, I know,” was not convinced until she had herself in person searched, every nook and cranny in the old house from top to bottom.
It was the first time that she had really showed any anxiety about the girl, for the old woman was very much troubled indeed. She was shrewd and business-like as usual, however, in her enquiries, and first examined everybody in the house before carrying the search further.
Miss Kingscott, the governess, said she had not seen her since the middle of the previous day, and she had supposed at first that she had gone out to walk with Mr Markworth. She had found out afterwards, however, that that gentleman had driven off early along with “poor Mr Thomas,” she believed, towards the station, and so her pupil could not have gone to walk with him.
Miss Kingscott afterwards informed Mrs Hartshorne that she missed out of her wardrobe a black silk dress, and a shawl and bonnet. She supposed Susan had taken those with her, as her own walking things had been left behind in her, Miss Kingscott’s, room. The old lady said snappishly that “she did not know what right she, the governess, had to suppose anything of the sort;” but she kept the information in her mind nevertheless.
The old servant, Martha, said she had not seen Miss Susan at all, as “she had too much work of her own in the kitchen for her to do, as was a disgrace for only one servant in sich a large ’ouse as she never see, and it were a burnin’ shame it were a workin’ one pore old woman worse nor any black nigger slave as ever was, that it were:” so no information was obtained from her.
George, on being summoned in to speak to the “old un,” as he called the dowager, said that he had been “at work all t’day a diggin on t’petatus,” and he had seen “no leetel miss” about the garden, but he “thort he seed un when he wor a goin’ to his dinner, jist arter twelve, awalkin’ in the far lot across t’fields with that gentelmun froom Lunnon, but he warn’t shoor.”
The old lady called him “an ass and a grinning baboon” for his pains, and told him “get out and go to your work, man!” But George was right, for he had seen them as he said, when on his way back to the house after his visit to the “Jolly Spades,” although his vision was then somewhat hazy, and his intellects more obtuse than usual from the large potations of home-brewed he had taken at such an early hour of the day—thanks to Miss Kingscott’s liberality to him. The dowager was perplexed, but her cool, calculating temperament was soon at work.
She determined to send at once to her lawyers in London, and calling in the aid of the police to track the fugitive.
Doctor Jolly, too, who came in at this moment to see after Tom—rather earlier than usual for his professional call, but he was anxious about his patient—warmly applauded the dowager’s resolve.
He, of course, was also startled at the news that Susan had not been heard of. “Bless my soul!” he said, when all the facts and enquiries that had been made were explained to him. “Bless my soul! It’s very strange, very strange, indeed. She could not have stopped anywhere in the neighbourhood, or you would have heard of her before. She must have gone off to some distance. Did she have any money with her?”
“Oh, no!” said Miss Kingscott, to whom he had addressed himself.
“Fool!” spoke out sharply the dowager.
“Why, is it likely that I would give any of my hard-earned money to an idiot to throw away?”
The doctor confessed the improbability of Mrs Hartshorne’s disposing of her surplus funds in the manner suggested, although he was somewhat indignant at the strong epithet applied to himself: he was, however, too much interested on Susan’s behalf to cavil now about words with the old lady.
“Have you asked about her in the village and at the station?” he said, after reflecting a minute or two.
“What is the use of that?” replied the dowager; “all the people know about her at Hartwood, and would have stopped her. But you can ask yourself presently, if you don’t mind going down there.”
The doctor said he would; and the plan of the dowager, he thought, would, in the meantime, be the best one to pursue.
“Yes,” said Mrs Hartshorne; “I shall send up to Mr Trump, in London, at once, and put the matter in his hands. He is a lawyer, and he will know what is best for us to do. I can’t say I’m very fond of the girl,” observed the dowager, drily, to which Doctor Jolly gave a decidedly affirmative nod; “but I would not like her to come to any harm. But who shall I send? Can you go?”
“Bless my soul!” replied Doctor Jolly. “I would go at once, but there’s poor Tom; I can’t leave him, for he’s in a very ticklish state.”
“True—true; poor Thomas! It’s a pretty kettle of fish, all this happening just now.”
“Let me go, ma’am,” said Miss Kingscott, quietly.
“You!” snapped out the old lady. “What’s the good of a girl like you going? What can you do?”
“I’m sure a girl can be as good a messenger as anyone else, and I can go at once,” answered the governess, calmly; “indeed I’m so interested in my poor pupil, that I should like to do something towards finding her.”
“Humph!” grunted the dowager, thinking it over.
“Certainly,” put in the doctor; “certainly, madam. Bless my soul! I should like to know why not?”
The thing was agreed to after some further conversation, and Miss Kingscott, charged with a curt epistle from the dowager, and a supply of money from the doctor’s own purse—the old lady had not hinted at producing any, and did not advance any demurrer to his so doing—for paying her expenses on the road, was directed to go to Hartwood Station. She was to ask there whether they had seen Susan, and if she heard no intelligence, she was to proceed direct to London; there she was to call on the lawyers without losing time, explain the whole matter to Mr Trump, and tell him to come down at once—indeed, she was to bring him down with her if she could.
The governess obeyed her instructions to the letter, and acted all through as if she was as ignorant about Susan’s disappearance and her movements as she had professed to be.
She asked about Susan in the village, in order that if any enquiries were made she could substantiate her statement of ignorance. Of course, nobody had heard there of the missing girl, as she very well knew would be the case. She then went on up to London by the next train, and proceeding at once to the offices to which she was directed, she handed the old lady’s letter to the senior partner.
In the meantime, Doctor Jolly was attending to poor Tom’s wounds; the wounded hero had passed a very bad night, and was feverish and excitable.
The doctor, who had his suspicions about Markworth, asked one or two guarded questions of Tom as to the whereabouts of his friend. He had been surprised at not seeing the exquisite at Lady Inskip’s pic-nic: with his downright common sense, aided by his dislike and suspicions of Markworth, he thought that there must be some connection at first between Susan’s disappearance and the absence of the other.
Tom’s answers to his questions, however, fairly puzzled him, and the doctor was thrown off the scent entirely.
Tom said, in reply to one of the doctor’s casual enquiries, that he had driven Markworth over to Hartwood Station himself before he had gone on to the pic-nic. That his friend had been suddenly summoned up to town the previous morning, and that he expected him back very shortly, as he said he might not be detained long; although Tom added, “he had taken his traps with him.”
“Oh, he has? has he!” answered the doctor. “Well, I daresay we’ll have him down soon again though, and then you will be able to get about again with him.”
He cheered up Tom, who was very crestfallen and hippish with the pain he had undergone, and the thoughts of being kept a prisoner in bed whilst he so much wished, particularly now on account of Lizzie, to be able to move about.
“Bless my soul!” said the old fellow, cheerfully, as he went out, “why, you will be right again in a jiffey. We have got all that beastly shot out of you, and the place is healing beautifully. I tell you what I will do, too, Master Tom,” he added, nodding his head knowingly, with a twinkling of his kind grey eyes—“I’ll tell a certain little girl how we are getting on; I know she will feel interested!”
“Thank you, doctor; you’re a trump, by Jove!” said Tom, gladly, “and give her my compliments.”
“Hang your compliments, you young rascal; I’ll give you her love when I come back!” and the doctor laughed himself with a cheery ho! ho! ho! out of the room, down the staircase, to the dining-room below, where Mrs Hartshorne—the old lady looking quite broken already from the anxiety she had gone through—was waiting to hear his report about Tom.
They had decided not to tell him yet about Susan in his present state—not, at all events, until the lawyer came down.
The doctor said Tom was doing very well, although excitement would be bad for him; and then went out to pay some calls around, promising to call back in a few hours’ time.
You may be sure he did not forget, with his kind heart, to call round at the Pringles, where he found little Lizzie listening anxiously for his approach, for he had promised her last night to come and give the news about Tom.
She eagerly thanked him for coming and for his good news, and coyly gave the doctor permission to take back her love to Tom: of course, she was as much surprised as the doctor was to hear of Susan’s disappearance, and her sympathies were quite aroused when he told her how broken the old lady seemed under the double trouble she was suffering under.
Lizzie immediately offered to go up and see her, not knowing her general disposition so well as our friend Aesculapius; but he told her that it would be useless, and that nothing could be done until the lawyer and the detective arrived from London. Lizzie was doubly anxious about Susan for Tom’s sake: it is wonderful the interest that young ladies take in the sisters and other relatives of young gentlemen for whom they may entertain regard! But Lizzie could do nothing, and was even more useless in the juncture than the dowager had at first supposed the governess to be when she offered to make herself useful.
After paying his round of calls, the doctor returned to The Poplars, some three hours or more from the time of his setting out: and he and the dowager then sat down in sympathy and mutual anxiety together in the parlour, for the first time in their respective lives, to wait for the return of Miss Kingscott from her mission to London.
Thus the hours passed by, the day after Susan Hartshorne’s elopement.
Volume Two—Chapter Four.Messrs Trump, Sequence, and Co.Mrs Hartshorne’s lawyers had their offices in one of the most palatial and dingy of that, whilom palatial, and now most dingy, collection of houses, which it would be sheer lunacy to christen a street,—yclept Bedford Row—that favourite abiding place and Mecca of the gentlemen of the “sheepskin” persuasion. The proprietress of The Poplars was one of the richest clients of the firm, who had for years done business for the family before the dowager’s incorporation in it; but still it does not follow that Messrs Trump, Sequence, and Co. got over many fees and costs from that long-headed lady. She employed them as a matter of course, for they had all the Hartshorne papers, but they got very little money out of her, or from the estate, since Roger Hartshorne, the old squire, died.It was to these gentlemen that Miss Kingscott was introduced on coming up to London to fulfil the mission with which she had been entrusted. It was good to see how the eyes of both partners glistened on hearing that, at last, some business was to be done for the Sussex dowager. Miss Kingscott related the particulars.Mr Trump at first was surprised, but being of a keen, energetic turn of mind, he quickly determined how to act.Having examined and cross-examined Miss Kingscott with regard to the dress and appearance of the girl, and so on—although he himself had frequently seen Susan too—he at once drew up the form of an advertisement for the lost girl, offering a reward of fifty pounds for her recovery.He then rang his bell for one of the clerks in the outer office; and a grizzled old man, old but alert, with his hair standing on end, like a porcupine’s quills, at once obeyed the summons.“Here, Smiffens,” said Mr Trump, giving him the paper he had just written, “copy that advertisement; take down copies to the morning papers, and have it inserted at once. By the way,” he added, as Smiffens bustled out of the room, “take a copy, too, to the printers, and have five hundred handbills struck off for the police. Wait for them till they’re done, and take them down to the central office. I’m just going down to Scotland Yard myself, and will tell them to expect the bills. Be sharp, mind! there’s no time to lose.”As soon as the clerk had gone, Mr Trump turned to the governess who had been waiting all this time.“Now, I’m at your service, Miss Kingscott,” he said. “I shall be happy to accompany you down to Hartwood if you are going back at once.” Miss Kingscott signified that that was her intention. “You won’t mind my stopping at the police-station, will you? I want to pick a sharp detective there, whom I know, and get him to go down with us.”“Oh, dear no!” said Miss Kingscott; and after a very trifling delay, Miss Kingscott, the lawyer, and John Bounce, special detective, of Scotland Yard, were in the coupé of a first-class carriage, and rattling down at express speed to Hartwood.Arrived there, they managed to secure one of those extraordinary cabs or flys that are to be met with at country places, and which, I believe, are derelict London carriages that are thrown away by their former owners as worn out and useless: and after a short time they got to The Poplars, just as the doctor and the dowager, worn out with waiting, began to feel tired of the unusual pleasure of each other’s company.Matters having been explained over again, the detective, John Bounce, was set to work; and he, with that look of mystic preparation which the craft glory in, asked at once to be shown over the house. He examined every hole and corner as if he thought Susan had been purposely stowed away by the members of the family. When he was satisfied with an inspection of the house and garden, giving especial care to examining the various locks and appurtenances of the gates, he appeared to think profoundly for a short time, when he asked to be shown the clothes which Susan had left behind her. These gave him immense gratification, for he turned them over and over again, giving vent to sundry Lord Burleigh’s shakings of the head, and portentous “humphs,” as if he had the whole thing in his mind’s eye.Detectives, my dear sir, or madam, are not by any means such sharp personages as writers of fiction generally love to depict. There are some especially “cute” members of the force I don’t for a moment deny; but as a class their knowledge and acquirements are fearfully exaggerated. Indeed, I must be so severe as to call them at once, humbugs; but they deceive themselves quite as greatly and as often as they deceive the public, and are by no means so sharp as the malefactors they are set to catch. I think a clergyman I once knew would have made a far better detective than a good many realmouchoirsI have come across. He had the gift of at once divining at the truth, investigating the morality and ethics of his parishioners which not one detective in a hundred possesses. They put on a great deal of mystery, and appear to “know all about it,” but they are really much more shallow conjurers than Herr Frickell when, turning up the sleeves of his coat and his snow-white wristbands and calling his audience’s attention to the theory that there is “no preparation, gentlemen! no preparation,” at once proceeds to smuggle eggs up his sleeves with a “Hi, Presto! Begone!”The detective placed great emphasis on the fact that Susan had taken Miss Kingscott’s dress and bonnet with her. “Putting two and two together,” as he said, he delivered himself of the oracular assertion, that she “must have gone off somewhere,” which, of course, no one else would have dreamt of but the dowager, who observed snappishly that she could have told him that before, and advised him to try and find out where the girl had gone to, as that was what he had been employed for. Whereupon, John Bounce appeared all at once to wake up to the notion that he would have to go somewhere else to look for the missing girl. He asked if they had enquired about her at the nearest railway station, and was told they had; and on being further told that another station, Bigglethorpe, was also not far from The Poplars, he said she might have gone there, which was also perfectly feasible to the meanest comprehension.At Bigglethorpe they found out that the station-master remembered a tall, dark gentleman getting out on the previous day, and coming back shortly afterwards with a lady. He thought it was the same, because now he remembered the gentleman had left his bag there, and had taken it, and gone off in the next up-train. On the detective’s telling him to “Take care!” and mentioning that he was a policeman, which he generally found to have an awe-inspiring influence on thegaminsof London, the station-master said he could not tell him any more, not if he were “twenty detectives, and the Lord Mayor into the bargain, all rolled into one.” He recollected a gentleman getting out there, he thought, and coming back again, and going up to London, and he believed he had a lady with him, but he would not be sure. It was “no use a pestering him with any more questions, for he had his own business to attend to about the traffic returns.” He did not know who the gentleman was, nor the lady, and he “had not seen them afore or since, and didn’t want to see ’em either, for that matter.” There the enquiry ended, for the detective was at fault; and that is all they found out about Susan, after searching for days about the neighbourhood in every direction.Nothing could be done now but to wait and see what effect the advertisements and handbills would have in discovering her whereabouts. So Mr Trump and the detective had to go back to London as unsuccessful as when they had gone down; while Doctor Jolly and the old lady and Tom, who were all greatly grieved at the disappearance of the girl, could but wonder what had become of her. The only thing they had learnt for a certainty was that she was not in the county; and they could only hope that a good providence would watch over her, and bring her back to them safe: in the interim the police in the metropolis, with their wits sharpened by the reward offered, were doing all they could to ferret her out in London. And thus a month passed by.During all this time, Messrs Trump, Sequence, and Co. had been fairly worried out of their wits, day and night, with false reports about the finding of Susan. More than a hundred persons had come to their offices brimful of the intelligence that they had secured the fugitive, and had seen her at all sorts of unheard of places; but the persons whom they thought to be Susan turned out to be totally unlike her in every particular. Mr Trump was for ever going with the police to inspect the bodies of drowned persons; and yet no trace was found of the missing girl, and he at last began to hope devoutly that she would be found soon, whether dead or alive he did not care which, for he was bothered to death about the matter. Indeed, he would have cheerfully given a handsome sum to have “washed his hands,” as he often said to Sequence, who had a peculiar, parrot-like habit of repeating Trump’s words after him, as if affirmatively, “of the whole affair.” To which Sequence would nod his head, and respond sagaciously, “Certainly, of the whole affair.”When Markworth, therefore, after the search had lasted a month, walked into the office one morning just after his interview with the Jew, Solomonson, and told Mr Trump, who had accosted him graciously, thinking he was a new client, that he came about the advertisement for the lost girl, Mr Trump was wroth and slightly snappy.“I hope to goodness you’ve really found her, and not come here with any cock and bull story like the rest of ’em.”“I think you’ll find,” said Markworth, taking out the marriage certificate which he had brought with him, the advertisement, and a photographic likeness which he had had taken at Havre, “when you look at these, that I’ve found the girl, and am entitled to the reward you have offered.”“This is Susan, sure enough; but,” he observed, “where’s it taken? Havre? Havre? How the devil did she get there?”“I took her there,” answered Markworth, in the most cool and collected manner, according to his wont; “and if you’ll look at this certificate here you’ll see that I had a perfect right to do so. She is my wife!”“Whew!” whistled Mr Trump, through his closed teeth. “Your wife! Why, the girl’s insane!”“That’s where you make the mistake, my dear sir! She’s no more insane than you are. Her people ought to have told you that, for although she had been previously a little ‘foolish,’ perhaps, they saw her improvement of late; and she had the sense, at all events, to run away with me and get married, and that’s no proof of her insanity.”“I don’t know about that,” said Mr Trump, “I don’t know about that. I remember now, the old doctor said that she had been more intelligent before she disappeared, but he did not tell me that Susan Hartshorne was quite right in her mind, and I won’t believe it. Do you know Mr —, I beg your pardon, I did not catch your name.”“Markworth, Allynne Markworth,” said that gentleman.“Thank you! Well then, Mr Allynne Markworth, do you know that that girl has a large fortune, and it is a very serious offence in the eyes of the law to abduct, and enter into a false contract of marriage with a girl of feeble intellect like that?”“I am perfectly aware of the facts as you state them, my dear sir. Allow me to congratulate you on your legal presence of mind and abilities,” said Markworth, as calmly as ever. “I knew she had a fortune, but you will have to prove she wasnon compos mentis, I believe that’s your term for it, when I married her. The girl was of age, my dear sir. Look at that marriage certificate, and see for yourself. She was of legal age on the very day before we were married. There! you see the date of the certificate, 28th August, 1867.”“Well, well, whether she was of age or not you can be prosecuted under an indictment for a conspiracy to obtain the money of a person of unsound mind, under the pretence of going through a marriage ceremony with a person who, in the eye of the law, could not make a binding contract!”“Precisely, my dear sir!” said the other, coolly, Mr Sequence, of course, taking no part in the conversation. “Precisely, but you see you will have to prove, in the first place, that the girl was of unsound mind; and in the second, to prove conspiracy you will have to implicate two or more persons. You see, I too, know the law, Mr Trump: allow me to inform you that I alone was concerned in the affair, how will you prove your conspiracy?”The lawyer looked fairly baffled. “The girl’s found at all events, and that’s one trouble saved,” he said to himself.Markworth resumed after a moment’s pause, “You see, my dear sir, the girl was of age, she was unhappy at home, she ran away with me and married me: the whole thing lies in a nutshell. I wasn’t to blame; and, of course, as she has property, I shall take very good care to assert my rights as her husband. But that’s an after consideration. You are quite satisfied that the girl is found, I suppose?” said Markworth, after detailing how Susan had met him on the day of her disappearance, taken train with him at Bigglethorpe Station (corroborated as the lawyer remembered, by his and the detective’s enquiries on the day they went down to Hartwood), from whence they had come up to London, and then gone to Havre. The marriage certificate and photograph were also convincing proofs of his statement.“Yes,” said Mr Trump, “I suppose you have the girl; but it’s a very queer case.”“My address isNuméro Sept,Rue Montmartre, Havre, where you can see Mrs Markworth yourself: now I’ll thank you to hand over that fifty pounds you offered as a reward for any information about her.”“By George!” said the lawyer, “you’re a cool hand, and no mistake!” He could not gainsay Markworth’s statement, however; so, unlocking his cash box, and taking out five ten pound notes, he handed them to him reluctantly. “There they are, and much good may they do you!” said Mr Trump, ruefully—He felt just as if he had been the victim of a practical joke.Markworth, after counting them over carefully, pocketed the notes with the utmostsang froid. “I suppose you will inform Mrs Hartshorne of her daughter’s marriage?”“Of course, sir, of course! I shall make it my business to go down there myself at once.”“Aye, do, my dear sir! and get all those unpleasant details over. I’m myself going down to-morrow, and should not like to be bothered in having to make any explanation.”“You’ll get as much as you want,” said Mr Trump, significantly, “when you come across the old lady.” And Mr Trump bethought him, with ill-concealed satisfaction, of the reception with which Markworth would probably meet; it would be a sort of tit-for-tat, orquid pro quo, for the “sell” he had just been made a victim of, in having to hand over that fifty pounds to the very man who had caused all the worry of Susan’s disappearance. “You won’t get any money out of her,” he thought.“I shall instruct my solicitors,” said Markworth, as he turned to leave the room, after making the first move of his game of chess, “to substantiate my marriage, which can be easily done, and claim my wife’s fortune.”“You had better,” said Mr Trump, savagely; “you won’t get it, my dear sir, without a fight, I can tell you!”“Ha—um!wewill see,” said Markworth, putting on his hat. “Good morning, gentlemen—good morning!” and he went out.“Morning!” grunted Mr Trump, feeling as if he had undergone a defeat; and “Morning,” echoed Mr Sequence, who had been listening carefully all the time, without putting in a word. He had the whole conversation, however, stored up in his brain for the future use of the firm.
Mrs Hartshorne’s lawyers had their offices in one of the most palatial and dingy of that, whilom palatial, and now most dingy, collection of houses, which it would be sheer lunacy to christen a street,—yclept Bedford Row—that favourite abiding place and Mecca of the gentlemen of the “sheepskin” persuasion. The proprietress of The Poplars was one of the richest clients of the firm, who had for years done business for the family before the dowager’s incorporation in it; but still it does not follow that Messrs Trump, Sequence, and Co. got over many fees and costs from that long-headed lady. She employed them as a matter of course, for they had all the Hartshorne papers, but they got very little money out of her, or from the estate, since Roger Hartshorne, the old squire, died.
It was to these gentlemen that Miss Kingscott was introduced on coming up to London to fulfil the mission with which she had been entrusted. It was good to see how the eyes of both partners glistened on hearing that, at last, some business was to be done for the Sussex dowager. Miss Kingscott related the particulars.
Mr Trump at first was surprised, but being of a keen, energetic turn of mind, he quickly determined how to act.
Having examined and cross-examined Miss Kingscott with regard to the dress and appearance of the girl, and so on—although he himself had frequently seen Susan too—he at once drew up the form of an advertisement for the lost girl, offering a reward of fifty pounds for her recovery.
He then rang his bell for one of the clerks in the outer office; and a grizzled old man, old but alert, with his hair standing on end, like a porcupine’s quills, at once obeyed the summons.
“Here, Smiffens,” said Mr Trump, giving him the paper he had just written, “copy that advertisement; take down copies to the morning papers, and have it inserted at once. By the way,” he added, as Smiffens bustled out of the room, “take a copy, too, to the printers, and have five hundred handbills struck off for the police. Wait for them till they’re done, and take them down to the central office. I’m just going down to Scotland Yard myself, and will tell them to expect the bills. Be sharp, mind! there’s no time to lose.”
As soon as the clerk had gone, Mr Trump turned to the governess who had been waiting all this time.
“Now, I’m at your service, Miss Kingscott,” he said. “I shall be happy to accompany you down to Hartwood if you are going back at once.” Miss Kingscott signified that that was her intention. “You won’t mind my stopping at the police-station, will you? I want to pick a sharp detective there, whom I know, and get him to go down with us.”
“Oh, dear no!” said Miss Kingscott; and after a very trifling delay, Miss Kingscott, the lawyer, and John Bounce, special detective, of Scotland Yard, were in the coupé of a first-class carriage, and rattling down at express speed to Hartwood.
Arrived there, they managed to secure one of those extraordinary cabs or flys that are to be met with at country places, and which, I believe, are derelict London carriages that are thrown away by their former owners as worn out and useless: and after a short time they got to The Poplars, just as the doctor and the dowager, worn out with waiting, began to feel tired of the unusual pleasure of each other’s company.
Matters having been explained over again, the detective, John Bounce, was set to work; and he, with that look of mystic preparation which the craft glory in, asked at once to be shown over the house. He examined every hole and corner as if he thought Susan had been purposely stowed away by the members of the family. When he was satisfied with an inspection of the house and garden, giving especial care to examining the various locks and appurtenances of the gates, he appeared to think profoundly for a short time, when he asked to be shown the clothes which Susan had left behind her. These gave him immense gratification, for he turned them over and over again, giving vent to sundry Lord Burleigh’s shakings of the head, and portentous “humphs,” as if he had the whole thing in his mind’s eye.
Detectives, my dear sir, or madam, are not by any means such sharp personages as writers of fiction generally love to depict. There are some especially “cute” members of the force I don’t for a moment deny; but as a class their knowledge and acquirements are fearfully exaggerated. Indeed, I must be so severe as to call them at once, humbugs; but they deceive themselves quite as greatly and as often as they deceive the public, and are by no means so sharp as the malefactors they are set to catch. I think a clergyman I once knew would have made a far better detective than a good many realmouchoirsI have come across. He had the gift of at once divining at the truth, investigating the morality and ethics of his parishioners which not one detective in a hundred possesses. They put on a great deal of mystery, and appear to “know all about it,” but they are really much more shallow conjurers than Herr Frickell when, turning up the sleeves of his coat and his snow-white wristbands and calling his audience’s attention to the theory that there is “no preparation, gentlemen! no preparation,” at once proceeds to smuggle eggs up his sleeves with a “Hi, Presto! Begone!”
The detective placed great emphasis on the fact that Susan had taken Miss Kingscott’s dress and bonnet with her. “Putting two and two together,” as he said, he delivered himself of the oracular assertion, that she “must have gone off somewhere,” which, of course, no one else would have dreamt of but the dowager, who observed snappishly that she could have told him that before, and advised him to try and find out where the girl had gone to, as that was what he had been employed for. Whereupon, John Bounce appeared all at once to wake up to the notion that he would have to go somewhere else to look for the missing girl. He asked if they had enquired about her at the nearest railway station, and was told they had; and on being further told that another station, Bigglethorpe, was also not far from The Poplars, he said she might have gone there, which was also perfectly feasible to the meanest comprehension.
At Bigglethorpe they found out that the station-master remembered a tall, dark gentleman getting out on the previous day, and coming back shortly afterwards with a lady. He thought it was the same, because now he remembered the gentleman had left his bag there, and had taken it, and gone off in the next up-train. On the detective’s telling him to “Take care!” and mentioning that he was a policeman, which he generally found to have an awe-inspiring influence on thegaminsof London, the station-master said he could not tell him any more, not if he were “twenty detectives, and the Lord Mayor into the bargain, all rolled into one.” He recollected a gentleman getting out there, he thought, and coming back again, and going up to London, and he believed he had a lady with him, but he would not be sure. It was “no use a pestering him with any more questions, for he had his own business to attend to about the traffic returns.” He did not know who the gentleman was, nor the lady, and he “had not seen them afore or since, and didn’t want to see ’em either, for that matter.” There the enquiry ended, for the detective was at fault; and that is all they found out about Susan, after searching for days about the neighbourhood in every direction.
Nothing could be done now but to wait and see what effect the advertisements and handbills would have in discovering her whereabouts. So Mr Trump and the detective had to go back to London as unsuccessful as when they had gone down; while Doctor Jolly and the old lady and Tom, who were all greatly grieved at the disappearance of the girl, could but wonder what had become of her. The only thing they had learnt for a certainty was that she was not in the county; and they could only hope that a good providence would watch over her, and bring her back to them safe: in the interim the police in the metropolis, with their wits sharpened by the reward offered, were doing all they could to ferret her out in London. And thus a month passed by.
During all this time, Messrs Trump, Sequence, and Co. had been fairly worried out of their wits, day and night, with false reports about the finding of Susan. More than a hundred persons had come to their offices brimful of the intelligence that they had secured the fugitive, and had seen her at all sorts of unheard of places; but the persons whom they thought to be Susan turned out to be totally unlike her in every particular. Mr Trump was for ever going with the police to inspect the bodies of drowned persons; and yet no trace was found of the missing girl, and he at last began to hope devoutly that she would be found soon, whether dead or alive he did not care which, for he was bothered to death about the matter. Indeed, he would have cheerfully given a handsome sum to have “washed his hands,” as he often said to Sequence, who had a peculiar, parrot-like habit of repeating Trump’s words after him, as if affirmatively, “of the whole affair.” To which Sequence would nod his head, and respond sagaciously, “Certainly, of the whole affair.”
When Markworth, therefore, after the search had lasted a month, walked into the office one morning just after his interview with the Jew, Solomonson, and told Mr Trump, who had accosted him graciously, thinking he was a new client, that he came about the advertisement for the lost girl, Mr Trump was wroth and slightly snappy.
“I hope to goodness you’ve really found her, and not come here with any cock and bull story like the rest of ’em.”
“I think you’ll find,” said Markworth, taking out the marriage certificate which he had brought with him, the advertisement, and a photographic likeness which he had had taken at Havre, “when you look at these, that I’ve found the girl, and am entitled to the reward you have offered.”
“This is Susan, sure enough; but,” he observed, “where’s it taken? Havre? Havre? How the devil did she get there?”
“I took her there,” answered Markworth, in the most cool and collected manner, according to his wont; “and if you’ll look at this certificate here you’ll see that I had a perfect right to do so. She is my wife!”
“Whew!” whistled Mr Trump, through his closed teeth. “Your wife! Why, the girl’s insane!”
“That’s where you make the mistake, my dear sir! She’s no more insane than you are. Her people ought to have told you that, for although she had been previously a little ‘foolish,’ perhaps, they saw her improvement of late; and she had the sense, at all events, to run away with me and get married, and that’s no proof of her insanity.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Mr Trump, “I don’t know about that. I remember now, the old doctor said that she had been more intelligent before she disappeared, but he did not tell me that Susan Hartshorne was quite right in her mind, and I won’t believe it. Do you know Mr —, I beg your pardon, I did not catch your name.”
“Markworth, Allynne Markworth,” said that gentleman.
“Thank you! Well then, Mr Allynne Markworth, do you know that that girl has a large fortune, and it is a very serious offence in the eyes of the law to abduct, and enter into a false contract of marriage with a girl of feeble intellect like that?”
“I am perfectly aware of the facts as you state them, my dear sir. Allow me to congratulate you on your legal presence of mind and abilities,” said Markworth, as calmly as ever. “I knew she had a fortune, but you will have to prove she wasnon compos mentis, I believe that’s your term for it, when I married her. The girl was of age, my dear sir. Look at that marriage certificate, and see for yourself. She was of legal age on the very day before we were married. There! you see the date of the certificate, 28th August, 1867.”
“Well, well, whether she was of age or not you can be prosecuted under an indictment for a conspiracy to obtain the money of a person of unsound mind, under the pretence of going through a marriage ceremony with a person who, in the eye of the law, could not make a binding contract!”
“Precisely, my dear sir!” said the other, coolly, Mr Sequence, of course, taking no part in the conversation. “Precisely, but you see you will have to prove, in the first place, that the girl was of unsound mind; and in the second, to prove conspiracy you will have to implicate two or more persons. You see, I too, know the law, Mr Trump: allow me to inform you that I alone was concerned in the affair, how will you prove your conspiracy?”
The lawyer looked fairly baffled. “The girl’s found at all events, and that’s one trouble saved,” he said to himself.
Markworth resumed after a moment’s pause, “You see, my dear sir, the girl was of age, she was unhappy at home, she ran away with me and married me: the whole thing lies in a nutshell. I wasn’t to blame; and, of course, as she has property, I shall take very good care to assert my rights as her husband. But that’s an after consideration. You are quite satisfied that the girl is found, I suppose?” said Markworth, after detailing how Susan had met him on the day of her disappearance, taken train with him at Bigglethorpe Station (corroborated as the lawyer remembered, by his and the detective’s enquiries on the day they went down to Hartwood), from whence they had come up to London, and then gone to Havre. The marriage certificate and photograph were also convincing proofs of his statement.
“Yes,” said Mr Trump, “I suppose you have the girl; but it’s a very queer case.”
“My address isNuméro Sept,Rue Montmartre, Havre, where you can see Mrs Markworth yourself: now I’ll thank you to hand over that fifty pounds you offered as a reward for any information about her.”
“By George!” said the lawyer, “you’re a cool hand, and no mistake!” He could not gainsay Markworth’s statement, however; so, unlocking his cash box, and taking out five ten pound notes, he handed them to him reluctantly. “There they are, and much good may they do you!” said Mr Trump, ruefully—He felt just as if he had been the victim of a practical joke.
Markworth, after counting them over carefully, pocketed the notes with the utmostsang froid. “I suppose you will inform Mrs Hartshorne of her daughter’s marriage?”
“Of course, sir, of course! I shall make it my business to go down there myself at once.”
“Aye, do, my dear sir! and get all those unpleasant details over. I’m myself going down to-morrow, and should not like to be bothered in having to make any explanation.”
“You’ll get as much as you want,” said Mr Trump, significantly, “when you come across the old lady.” And Mr Trump bethought him, with ill-concealed satisfaction, of the reception with which Markworth would probably meet; it would be a sort of tit-for-tat, orquid pro quo, for the “sell” he had just been made a victim of, in having to hand over that fifty pounds to the very man who had caused all the worry of Susan’s disappearance. “You won’t get any money out of her,” he thought.
“I shall instruct my solicitors,” said Markworth, as he turned to leave the room, after making the first move of his game of chess, “to substantiate my marriage, which can be easily done, and claim my wife’s fortune.”
“You had better,” said Mr Trump, savagely; “you won’t get it, my dear sir, without a fight, I can tell you!”
“Ha—um!wewill see,” said Markworth, putting on his hat. “Good morning, gentlemen—good morning!” and he went out.
“Morning!” grunted Mr Trump, feeling as if he had undergone a defeat; and “Morning,” echoed Mr Sequence, who had been listening carefully all the time, without putting in a word. He had the whole conversation, however, stored up in his brain for the future use of the firm.
Volume Two—Chapter Five.Convalescent.At the commencement of the fifth chapter of the veracious history of the Knight of La Mancha, it is related that “Don Quixote perceiving that he was not able to stir, resolved to have recourse to his signal remedy, which was to bethink himself what passage in his books might afford him comfort; and presently this fully brought to his remembrance that story of Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Charlotte left the former wounded on the mountain: a story learned and known by little children,”—as the author proceeds to comment,—“not unknown to young men and women, celebrated and even received by the old, and yet not a jot more authentic than the miracles of Mahomet.”In a similar way did our wounded hero, Master Tom, hasten his recovery by thinking over all the charming little love passages which had occurred between Miss Lizzie and himself; consequently in a few weeks, thanks to Cupid’s recollections and the aid of pharmacy, our hero was nearly on his legs again.The broken—“smashed” the doctor called them—ribs had been steadily improving, in spite of all the anxiety Tom suffered on his sister’s account, sanguine though he was of her yet being brought home; and by the time that Markworth divulged his plot, and Mr Trump hastened down to The Poplars to communicate it, Master Tom had progressed his cure as rapidly as did Don Quixote, being able to leave his bed and hobble about a bit before being declared by Doctor Jolly to be quite convalescent and out of his hands. The young squire had, however, youth and health to back him up, which enabled the “signal remedy,” perhaps, to have more effect on him than it had on Sancho Panza’s master.The interest which the invalid Tom had created, had somewhat deadened the effect of Susan’s disappearance; and although that was as yet an unsolved secret, and the cause of much anxiety, still everyone, both in and out of the household, celebrated it as a day of rejoicing when Tom made his first re-appearance down stairs. The young Antinous had undergone the scars and strife of battle: it was meet that his recovery should be made much of, as indeed was the case.Tom came down stairs, and all were glad to see him: even the dowager allowed a frigid smile of welcome to flit across her features as he entered the dining-room once more; and “Garge,” whom he met in the passage, exclaimed, with his customary “ploughishness—”“Lor’ sakes, Measter Tummus! I are roight glad to say un!”Miss Kingscott expressed her welcome by far too warmly, the old lady thought, for she advanced eagerly and squeezed the hand Tom offered, after curtseying low. Doctor Jolly was pleased to be present also on the occasion.“Bless my soul, Tom!” he said. “Here we are, as right again as ninepence, my boy; I told you so, Mrs Hartshorne—I told you so,” as if that lady were disputing the point. She was too glad to see Tom, however, to argue with the doctor as usual, but yielded the point gracefully, only throwing cold water on the ecstasies of our friend Damon, by suggesting that Tom’s youth and constitution had pulled him through better perhaps than all the physic and meddling doctors in the world. Doctor Jolly, however, could also afford to be lenient; so he left the dowager’s challenge unanswered.After a day or two, Tom hobbled out into the garden. He was still very weak and pale, but improving; and as soon as he had tried his powers at hobbling outside the front door, he determined to hobble down to the parsonage. “It was only right, you know, after all their kind enquiries every day about his health!” The Pringles had sent up every morning an extraordinary looking young female servant of theirs, whom the dowager christened “the Gezaba,” to ask how “Mister Tom was getting on.” Naturally Tom could do no less than return his thanks for such an attention: it could be no other motive that would take him out down to the parsonage so soon after he was able to stir—nothing else, of course!Accordingly, Tom sallied out a day or two after he had come down stairs, telling no one of his venture, for they would all have been up in arms at his walking so far so soon after his illness.It was now a month past the era of the pic-nic—a month remarkable for much besides his accident, and Tom had many things to think of, not the least of which was the recollection of what he had said to Lizzie, and she to him, just after he had been wounded. Doctor Jolly had acted as a sort of go-between to them, having carried many a little message twixt The Poplars and the parsonage, after Tom had been placedhors de combat. Kind hearted old Doctor Jolly—his is the truest and most pleasant face on these pages!Tom remembered that walk of his for many a day afterwards. How he had paused at that corner to take breath, and rested on this stile here to recover his faintness; and how he thought he would never be able to reach his destination, until he saw the square old tower of the church and the trim built parsonage beyond. But he got over the ground heavily, hobbling along by the aid of his stick, and receiving hearty greetings of “Foine day, sir!” from the fat farmers, who rejoiced to see the “yoong squoire” about again.The parsonage never looked prettier, he thought, as he got to the gate at last, and Tom rolled over in his mind what he should say to Lizzie, and if she would be glad to see him, and whether he should see her at all.His doubts were, however, soon solved. The “Gezaba of a servant” who opened the door and bungled out a sort of greeting to him, told him that both “Miss Lizzie and the master” were in. Tom could have dispensed with Pringle’s presence, but he had to make the best of a bad bargain.As he entered the little drawing-room which he knew so well, Pringle stepped forward gladly to meet him, while Lizzie remained shyly in the background.“By Jove! Tom”—they had long since dropped surnames between them, as men do after a little intimacy—“I’m right glad to see you, old fellow! But we heard that you only got out of bed the day before yesterday, so we hardly expected you to come over yet. How are you, old fellow, eh?” and he shook Tom eagerly by the hand.“Oh, I’m all right,” answered our hero, after which he gave Lizzie’s hand a very hard squeeze, which caused that young lady to blush furiously, but in a moment the flush of excitement passed off Tom’s face, and he looked as pale as death; if he had not caught hold of the back of a chair he would have dropped down. The walk had certainly been too much for him.“Oh! Herbert,” exclaimed Lizzie, in alarm, “he’s going to faint!” and she ran forward to Tom, who, I believe, would have cheerfully fainted at the juncture, if he could possibly have achieved it; you see, the circumstances were very favourable to the occasion.As it was, the “gay young dog,” as Doctor Jolly would have said, was “in precious nice quarters,” for there he was in a moment, by the aid of Pringle’s arm, laid out on the comfortable sofa, with Lizzie bathing his forehead witheau de Cologne, and handing him smelling salts, and Pringle enquiring every moment, “Do you feel better now, eh, old fellow?”“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!” said Lizzie, as she bent over him with her face suffused with a carnation tinge whenever she caught his eye, which the artful rogue contrived should happen very frequently—“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! walking out so soon, and you deserve a good punishing.”And Miss Lizzie looked very stern, indeed, with her violet eyes beaming with a rich warm light: she seemed as if she would punish Master Tom very severely.“Yes, it’s very wrong,” answered the recumbent hero; “but you see, I could not help it, you know!” and Miss Lizzie blushed again, as Tom looked very meaningly at her.“Better now, old fellow?” put in Pringle, at this juncture. “That’s right: you don’t look so pale now. By Jove! I thought you were going to faint.”“Bless you! I’ll be right in a twinkle,” answered Tom. “You see, the walk was a trifle too much; but I feel decidedly better now,” with a look at the young lady’s eyes to invigorate himself anew: the violet eyes seemed to act as a sort of tonic.“You shall be condemned to lie on the sofa all the afternoon, sir!” said Lizzie, “as a punishment for your imprudence!”“All right,” laughed Tom, “I’ll stop for ever—that is if you’ll let me; but what will your brother say?” he asked, with a roguish glance.“Oh! certainly—certainly,” said Pringle, hurriedly; he was very much puzzled how to act. It looked very much like a flirtation between his sister and Tom, under his very nose as it were, and he had promised Lady Inskip to “put a stop to it.” He did not know what to do. He liked Tom, and did not wish besides to appear uncourteous; but he was very nervous. “If I were only her mother,” he murmured to himself, “it would be easy enough;” but as he unfortunately did not occupy the position of a maternal relative, he was on thorns all the time Tom stayed.“Don’t you think we’d better have some lunch, Lizzie,” he said, after a pause, filled up by the other two very agreeably by the aid of that very intelligible “conversation without words”—which by the aid of looks is carried on between lovers, whetherde factoorde jure. Whereupon Lizzie bustled out of the room, shaking a little bunch of keys in the most housewifely manner, and looking dangerously pretty; presently returning with the “Gezaba” in her train, and carrying a little damask covered luncheon tray. The three had a very sociable and pleasant little meal, although neither Tom nor Lizzie eat much; however, they both drank deeply-intoxicating draughts from each other’s eyes.Presently, Tom rose to go, after paying a call of some hours’ duration, during which Pringle had never given him an opportunity of being alone with Lizzie. “What cubs brothers are!” thought Tom in his inmost heart, but he thanked Pringle aloud for his kindness in sending up every day to enquire after him. Pringle was candid with all his faults. “Oh, you must thank Lizzie for that,” he said; “I’ve called several times myself to ask about you, but she sent up the servant, I believe, every day!”And then, of course, Master Tom had to thank Miss Lizzie. Why the thanking had to occupy such a long time, and why Lizzie had to blush so much, and why Master Tom had to keep her hand such an unconscionable long time in his, while Pringle went forward to open the door, and show his guest out; and why Tom had to make the little attention into a serious business by saying, “I shall never forget it! never, as long as I live,” I can’t explain—sufficient to say that Master Tom appeared very much satisfied at leaving her, though he had not had the chance of actually telling his love, while Miss Lizzie did not appear as if she would “punish” him, as she threatened to do, when he called again.The young incumbent walked home with Tom, to give him the benefit of his arm; and he was very uncomfortable about it all, for he could not ask a poor, sick fellow like that who was hobbling by his side, “what were his intentions.” He must let matters rest for a season, until something actually turned up. He was distrustful of the whole business, for he did not think the rich and purse-proud old dowager would consent to let her son wed her curate’s portionless sister; so Pringle felt worried in his heart, and, after seeing Tom home, had to go and call on Lady Inskip in order to be comforted by the languid Laura.When Tom got to The Poplars, he found that a great deal had happened in his absence.Mr Trump had come down post haste to tell about Susan’s recovery, and how Markworth had taken her away and married her, and that she was with him now at Havre. The lawyer was still waiting to see him. Doctor Jolly too was there, and had heard the news, our old friend telling Tom as he hobbled into the hall, “Bless my soul! sir, there’s the very devil to pay!”
At the commencement of the fifth chapter of the veracious history of the Knight of La Mancha, it is related that “Don Quixote perceiving that he was not able to stir, resolved to have recourse to his signal remedy, which was to bethink himself what passage in his books might afford him comfort; and presently this fully brought to his remembrance that story of Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Charlotte left the former wounded on the mountain: a story learned and known by little children,”—as the author proceeds to comment,—“not unknown to young men and women, celebrated and even received by the old, and yet not a jot more authentic than the miracles of Mahomet.”
In a similar way did our wounded hero, Master Tom, hasten his recovery by thinking over all the charming little love passages which had occurred between Miss Lizzie and himself; consequently in a few weeks, thanks to Cupid’s recollections and the aid of pharmacy, our hero was nearly on his legs again.
The broken—“smashed” the doctor called them—ribs had been steadily improving, in spite of all the anxiety Tom suffered on his sister’s account, sanguine though he was of her yet being brought home; and by the time that Markworth divulged his plot, and Mr Trump hastened down to The Poplars to communicate it, Master Tom had progressed his cure as rapidly as did Don Quixote, being able to leave his bed and hobble about a bit before being declared by Doctor Jolly to be quite convalescent and out of his hands. The young squire had, however, youth and health to back him up, which enabled the “signal remedy,” perhaps, to have more effect on him than it had on Sancho Panza’s master.
The interest which the invalid Tom had created, had somewhat deadened the effect of Susan’s disappearance; and although that was as yet an unsolved secret, and the cause of much anxiety, still everyone, both in and out of the household, celebrated it as a day of rejoicing when Tom made his first re-appearance down stairs. The young Antinous had undergone the scars and strife of battle: it was meet that his recovery should be made much of, as indeed was the case.
Tom came down stairs, and all were glad to see him: even the dowager allowed a frigid smile of welcome to flit across her features as he entered the dining-room once more; and “Garge,” whom he met in the passage, exclaimed, with his customary “ploughishness—”
“Lor’ sakes, Measter Tummus! I are roight glad to say un!”
Miss Kingscott expressed her welcome by far too warmly, the old lady thought, for she advanced eagerly and squeezed the hand Tom offered, after curtseying low. Doctor Jolly was pleased to be present also on the occasion.
“Bless my soul, Tom!” he said. “Here we are, as right again as ninepence, my boy; I told you so, Mrs Hartshorne—I told you so,” as if that lady were disputing the point. She was too glad to see Tom, however, to argue with the doctor as usual, but yielded the point gracefully, only throwing cold water on the ecstasies of our friend Damon, by suggesting that Tom’s youth and constitution had pulled him through better perhaps than all the physic and meddling doctors in the world. Doctor Jolly, however, could also afford to be lenient; so he left the dowager’s challenge unanswered.
After a day or two, Tom hobbled out into the garden. He was still very weak and pale, but improving; and as soon as he had tried his powers at hobbling outside the front door, he determined to hobble down to the parsonage. “It was only right, you know, after all their kind enquiries every day about his health!” The Pringles had sent up every morning an extraordinary looking young female servant of theirs, whom the dowager christened “the Gezaba,” to ask how “Mister Tom was getting on.” Naturally Tom could do no less than return his thanks for such an attention: it could be no other motive that would take him out down to the parsonage so soon after he was able to stir—nothing else, of course!
Accordingly, Tom sallied out a day or two after he had come down stairs, telling no one of his venture, for they would all have been up in arms at his walking so far so soon after his illness.
It was now a month past the era of the pic-nic—a month remarkable for much besides his accident, and Tom had many things to think of, not the least of which was the recollection of what he had said to Lizzie, and she to him, just after he had been wounded. Doctor Jolly had acted as a sort of go-between to them, having carried many a little message twixt The Poplars and the parsonage, after Tom had been placedhors de combat. Kind hearted old Doctor Jolly—his is the truest and most pleasant face on these pages!
Tom remembered that walk of his for many a day afterwards. How he had paused at that corner to take breath, and rested on this stile here to recover his faintness; and how he thought he would never be able to reach his destination, until he saw the square old tower of the church and the trim built parsonage beyond. But he got over the ground heavily, hobbling along by the aid of his stick, and receiving hearty greetings of “Foine day, sir!” from the fat farmers, who rejoiced to see the “yoong squoire” about again.
The parsonage never looked prettier, he thought, as he got to the gate at last, and Tom rolled over in his mind what he should say to Lizzie, and if she would be glad to see him, and whether he should see her at all.
His doubts were, however, soon solved. The “Gezaba of a servant” who opened the door and bungled out a sort of greeting to him, told him that both “Miss Lizzie and the master” were in. Tom could have dispensed with Pringle’s presence, but he had to make the best of a bad bargain.
As he entered the little drawing-room which he knew so well, Pringle stepped forward gladly to meet him, while Lizzie remained shyly in the background.
“By Jove! Tom”—they had long since dropped surnames between them, as men do after a little intimacy—“I’m right glad to see you, old fellow! But we heard that you only got out of bed the day before yesterday, so we hardly expected you to come over yet. How are you, old fellow, eh?” and he shook Tom eagerly by the hand.
“Oh, I’m all right,” answered our hero, after which he gave Lizzie’s hand a very hard squeeze, which caused that young lady to blush furiously, but in a moment the flush of excitement passed off Tom’s face, and he looked as pale as death; if he had not caught hold of the back of a chair he would have dropped down. The walk had certainly been too much for him.
“Oh! Herbert,” exclaimed Lizzie, in alarm, “he’s going to faint!” and she ran forward to Tom, who, I believe, would have cheerfully fainted at the juncture, if he could possibly have achieved it; you see, the circumstances were very favourable to the occasion.
As it was, the “gay young dog,” as Doctor Jolly would have said, was “in precious nice quarters,” for there he was in a moment, by the aid of Pringle’s arm, laid out on the comfortable sofa, with Lizzie bathing his forehead witheau de Cologne, and handing him smelling salts, and Pringle enquiring every moment, “Do you feel better now, eh, old fellow?”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!” said Lizzie, as she bent over him with her face suffused with a carnation tinge whenever she caught his eye, which the artful rogue contrived should happen very frequently—“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! walking out so soon, and you deserve a good punishing.”
And Miss Lizzie looked very stern, indeed, with her violet eyes beaming with a rich warm light: she seemed as if she would punish Master Tom very severely.
“Yes, it’s very wrong,” answered the recumbent hero; “but you see, I could not help it, you know!” and Miss Lizzie blushed again, as Tom looked very meaningly at her.
“Better now, old fellow?” put in Pringle, at this juncture. “That’s right: you don’t look so pale now. By Jove! I thought you were going to faint.”
“Bless you! I’ll be right in a twinkle,” answered Tom. “You see, the walk was a trifle too much; but I feel decidedly better now,” with a look at the young lady’s eyes to invigorate himself anew: the violet eyes seemed to act as a sort of tonic.
“You shall be condemned to lie on the sofa all the afternoon, sir!” said Lizzie, “as a punishment for your imprudence!”
“All right,” laughed Tom, “I’ll stop for ever—that is if you’ll let me; but what will your brother say?” he asked, with a roguish glance.
“Oh! certainly—certainly,” said Pringle, hurriedly; he was very much puzzled how to act. It looked very much like a flirtation between his sister and Tom, under his very nose as it were, and he had promised Lady Inskip to “put a stop to it.” He did not know what to do. He liked Tom, and did not wish besides to appear uncourteous; but he was very nervous. “If I were only her mother,” he murmured to himself, “it would be easy enough;” but as he unfortunately did not occupy the position of a maternal relative, he was on thorns all the time Tom stayed.
“Don’t you think we’d better have some lunch, Lizzie,” he said, after a pause, filled up by the other two very agreeably by the aid of that very intelligible “conversation without words”—which by the aid of looks is carried on between lovers, whetherde factoorde jure. Whereupon Lizzie bustled out of the room, shaking a little bunch of keys in the most housewifely manner, and looking dangerously pretty; presently returning with the “Gezaba” in her train, and carrying a little damask covered luncheon tray. The three had a very sociable and pleasant little meal, although neither Tom nor Lizzie eat much; however, they both drank deeply-intoxicating draughts from each other’s eyes.
Presently, Tom rose to go, after paying a call of some hours’ duration, during which Pringle had never given him an opportunity of being alone with Lizzie. “What cubs brothers are!” thought Tom in his inmost heart, but he thanked Pringle aloud for his kindness in sending up every day to enquire after him. Pringle was candid with all his faults. “Oh, you must thank Lizzie for that,” he said; “I’ve called several times myself to ask about you, but she sent up the servant, I believe, every day!”
And then, of course, Master Tom had to thank Miss Lizzie. Why the thanking had to occupy such a long time, and why Lizzie had to blush so much, and why Master Tom had to keep her hand such an unconscionable long time in his, while Pringle went forward to open the door, and show his guest out; and why Tom had to make the little attention into a serious business by saying, “I shall never forget it! never, as long as I live,” I can’t explain—sufficient to say that Master Tom appeared very much satisfied at leaving her, though he had not had the chance of actually telling his love, while Miss Lizzie did not appear as if she would “punish” him, as she threatened to do, when he called again.
The young incumbent walked home with Tom, to give him the benefit of his arm; and he was very uncomfortable about it all, for he could not ask a poor, sick fellow like that who was hobbling by his side, “what were his intentions.” He must let matters rest for a season, until something actually turned up. He was distrustful of the whole business, for he did not think the rich and purse-proud old dowager would consent to let her son wed her curate’s portionless sister; so Pringle felt worried in his heart, and, after seeing Tom home, had to go and call on Lady Inskip in order to be comforted by the languid Laura.
When Tom got to The Poplars, he found that a great deal had happened in his absence.
Mr Trump had come down post haste to tell about Susan’s recovery, and how Markworth had taken her away and married her, and that she was with him now at Havre. The lawyer was still waiting to see him. Doctor Jolly too was there, and had heard the news, our old friend telling Tom as he hobbled into the hall, “Bless my soul! sir, there’s the very devil to pay!”