CHAPTERXXXVII.THE FUGITIVE’S RETURN.
BeforeMiss Lindsay left London she accompanied her late cousin’s ward to Victoria, and saw her depart for Brighton. The old lady was by no means sorry that this was the last she was to see of Laura Mowbray. There had been from the first hour of their meeting a natural antipathy between the two women. Miss Lindsay’s ruling idea was that of duty, while Laura’s chief aim in life was to get as much amusement, or, failing that, as much comfort as possible, out of her existence. They had put up with each other because they happened to be members of the same household, and each had too much senseto indulge in quarrelling or recrimination. Naturally they both felt it to be a relief when the connection came to an end.
But no sooner were Miss Lindsay and Margaret seated in the carriage which conveyed them back to Claremont Gardens, than the old lady’s conscience began to trouble her. It told her that she had done nothing for the girl who had been for some years in a manner under her care. She had not tried to wean her from her pleasure-loving, selfish habits. She had not tried to sympathize with her, or to make life in Mr. Lindsay’s house, which was often cheerless enough, a whit more pleasant for her. Beyond lending volumes of sermons and religious memoirs to her to read on Sundays, she had not tried to influence the motherless girl for good. Why had she not thought of all this before it was too late?
‘It was with a sigh, therefore, that she turned to Margaret, and said:
‘Poor lassie! I wish she may do weel.’
‘I think few people are better able to take care of themselves than Miss Mowbray,’ responded Margaret.
‘I think Alec was greatly taken with her some time back,’ said Miss Lindsay, after a pause.
‘She encouraged both him and that wretch, James Semple,’ said Margaret, with more vehemence than was usual with her; ‘and I believe she meant to take the one that turned out to be Uncle James’s heir. She has no principle. I believe she would marry anyone who was rich enough to give her all the comforts of life and take her to plenty of balls and parties.’
‘It doesna become you to speak ill o’ the lassie as soon as her back’s turned,’ said Miss Lindsay; and to this rebuke Margaret vouchsafed no reply.
Meanwhile Laura was trying to realize thatonce more a great change had come into her life. The comfortable, monotonous life of Mr. Lindsay’s house was already for her a thing of the past. What the future had in store for her she had no means of guessing. A cousin of her mother’s, who had married a Mr. Crosby, had offered her a home, and she had accepted the offer. Of Mr. Crosby she only knew that he was a coal merchant, and that he lived at Richmond Villa, Brighton. He might be a poor man, or he might be well-to-do; though from the fact that Mrs. Crosby had accepted Laura’s proposal to pay her sixty pounds a year for her board and lodging, it might be supposed that the Crosbys were not rich.
‘Whatever they are like,’ said Laura to herself, ‘my life can’t be more dull with them than it has been for the last three years. And if I don’t like them, I can always go away again.’
But fate had decreed that in both of these points Laura was to be disappointed.
The girl’s heart sank within her as the cab stopped at ‘Richmond Villa,’ which was, in fact, nothing more than a shabby, stucco-fronted cottage. The crying of a baby reached her ears before she had time to raise the knocker; and no sooner had she done so than she became conscious that two dirty children were peering at her from the window at her left hand.
Mrs. Crosby was a large, flabby, good-natured woman, who seemed incapable of being injuriously affected by any domestic troubles whatever. She was always in a muddle, always undecided, always unpresentable in appearance, and always contented. Her husband, on the contrary, was a little, sharp-eyed, foxy-haired man with a rasping, disagreeable voice, and an uncertain temper. Each of them had, without knowing it, drawna prize in the lottery of marriage. Either Mr. or Mrs. Crosby would have driven any other man or woman mad in a week; but they got on together tolerably well.
‘You are very welcome, Miss Mowbray,’ he said to Laura that evening, ‘if you can put up with the discomfort of this house. I’m used to it, and I don’t mind; but with you it may be different.’
Laura did not know what to say in answer to this speech; but Mrs. Crosby remarked with the utmost composure:
‘Law, Mr. Crosby, how can you say so? I’m sure everything’s very comfortable, though at present a little unsettled. But you must never mind Mr. Crosby, my dear. All men grumble and find fault; and if you just let them alone, it never does anyone any harm.’
Life at Richmond Villa was certainly uneventful; but very much to her own surprise Laura found that it interested her. It wasthe first time she had ever formed one of a family circle; and though the children were by no means attractive, they amused her, and pleased her by coming to her with their little wants and cares, their joys and sorrows.
And before Laura had been long enough in the house to decide whether it would not be better to leave it and go and live by herself in a boarding-house, an event happened which settled the question for her. The Patent Match-box Company, whose shares she had bought on her lawyer’s advice at twenty per cent. premium, went into liquidation; and after a miserable period of anxiety Laura found that only nine hundred pounds of her money could be saved out of the wreck. She was thankful to remain with Mrs. Crosby as nursery-governess. It was a hard, dull life; but the very hardness and dulness of it did the girl good. She was forced to think of other things than her own amusement and herown pleasure. Almost insensibly she grew less self-indulgent, more considerate for others, more simple and straightforward.
One day, about six months after Laura had first come to Brighton, she was returning home, late in the afternoon, when she was stopped by a man whom she took for a beggar. As she was searching her pocket for a copper, he spoke to her.
‘Laura—Miss Mowbray, don’t you know me?’
It was James Semple!
The girl was shocked beyond the power of speech. She stood, exactly as she had been standing when he spoke her name, and stared at him. His dress was that of a labourer, except for his coat—an old black overcoat, torn, and indescribably dirty, which had the effect of making him look a thousand times more disreputable than he would have been without it. On his head was a battered felthat, gray with old age. His face was thin and unshaven, his eyes hungry and wolfish.
‘Well! you needn’t stare at me like that!’ he exclaimed.
But Laura did not hear him. She had burst into tears. She hardly could have told why she wept; for certainly the man deserved his evil fortune. Yet it seemed too horrible that a man whom she had lived with on terms of familiarity should be reduced to this—to actual squalor and hunger.
‘You’re sorry for me, I see. You’ve a good heart, Laura. But you won’t care to be seen speaking to me,’ he added, throwing a furtive glance around him. ‘There’s a policeman coming up the street. Let’s turn down here,’ and he led the way into a side-alley. Half reluctantly the girl followed him.
‘I say, do you know if there’s a warrant out against me?’ he whispered, stretching his unsightly face nearer to her.
‘No; I think not. I never heard of anything of that kind.’
‘Because I’ve been afraid, you know—horribly afraid. I haven’t been able to sleep at night. I couldn’t go to prison, Laura. Not for long, you know. It would kill me.’
‘Where have you been? And how did you know I was here?’
‘I’ve been in Spain. I worked my passage from Lisbon. And I went to the house in Claremont Gardens one night, after dark, and the old woman who is keeping the place told me where you had gone. I’ve tramped from London.’
‘And how have you lived, all this time?’
‘I haven’t lived, I’ve starved. That’s what I’ve done. You never knew what it was to be hungry, I suppose. How would you like to be hungry, not for days, but weeks and weeks—and cold too at the same time, andnowhere to sleep. I couldn’t stand it, so I came back and took my chance. I say, Laura, can you lend me any money?’
Laura took out her purse. There were two sovereigns in it, besides some silver. She poured it all into the man’s open palm.
‘I am not rich now,’ she said, with a sad smile; ‘I lost nearly all my money.’ And she then remembered that it would be two months at least before her purse could be filled again.
‘Have you?’ said Semple. ‘Are you sure you can spare all this?’ He picked out one of the sovereigns and held it, as if he intended to return it.
‘Oh yes, I can spare it; and you want it so much.’
‘Don’t I! But you’re a good sort, Laura, returned Semple; slipping the sovereign into his pocket with the rest of the money.
‘I’m afraid I must go now,’ said the girl,remembering that it was just possible that they might be observed.
‘All right. I’ll go back to London. It’s easier to pick up coppers there than anywhere else.’
‘Why don’t you consult a lawyer?’ asked Laura suddenly.
‘What! Don’t you see, I could be caught and put in prison, for the conspiracy, if it were nothing else?’
‘Yes; but surely the lawyer might act for you, and get your money for you, even if you lived abroad.’
‘I thought of that. But what lawyer would look at me, dressed as I am now? Your two sovereigns will change all that, Laura. I will find a solicitor to take up the case. There ought to be ten thousand pounds for my share of the residue.’
‘Far more than that. The FreeChurch——’
‘Yes. What about the Free Church? They get the half-million, don’t they?’
‘I believe not. Alec gave up his share to them; and they tried to get your share from the executors; but the court decided that they could not prove their case, and had no right to it.’
‘Are you sure?’ cried Semple, almost mad with excitement.
‘I am quite sure. I saw it in the papers about a fortnight ago.’
‘You don’t say so! What luck!’ And with sundry half-articulate cries of wonder and delight, Mr. James Semple disappeared.
Six weeks afterwards he came back to Brighton. It was on a Sunday morning that Laura and he met. She had a headache which had prevented her going to church; and she was enjoying the unwonted repose of the little sitting-room when the door was opened, and Semple walked into the room. He was no longer an outcast dressed in rags. Every article of dress he had on was palpably new;and except for an irrepressible twitch of the eyelids, he had an air of confidence and display.
‘You see I’ve come back again, Laura,’ he said, as soon as the door was closed. ‘I didn’t forget you. But it was a risk—a tremendous risk. Curtin—that’s my solicitor—is careful to impress on me that my getting the money won’t save me from prosecution. It’s a comfortable truth for him; for he’s charged me fifty per cent. for the money he has lent me,——him, because he knew very well I didn’t dare to go to anyone else for it. But how are you?’
‘I don’t feel very well to-day.’
‘I’m sorry for that. Well, I’ve come a good way to see you. I’m in France, you know—supposed to be in France; and I ran over last night and came down here this morning. I want to pay you the little debt I owe you;’ and he counted out the money ashe spoke. ‘We’ve made them pay up,’ he cried in triumphant tone.
‘Indeed,’ said Laura.
‘Yes. Two hundred and eleven thousand four hundred and nineteen pounds were paid in to my account at the Bank of England on Friday morning. What do you think of that?’
‘I’m going to buy a yacht,’ he continued, without waiting for an answer. ‘One feels more comfortable, safer, in fact, on board ship.’
He ceased talking for a moment, and Laura made no effort to supply the gap.
‘I say, Laura,’ he exclaimed, ‘did you ever hear of such a fool as that fellow Alec—throwing away all that money?’
Laura reddened. It was exactly what she had thought herself; but it was a very different thing to hear it from this man’s mouth.
‘So I’m the heir after all!’ He laughed;he actually laughed as he spoke. ‘And as soon as I’ve come into my inheritance I’ve come back to you. I’m not a man to forget old friends or old promises, Laura; and I’ve come to ask you to let bygones be bygones, and go shares with me in this good luck. You’ll marry me, Laura, won’t you? And we’ll be so jolly! Think of how jolly we will be! Eh, Laura?’
‘But I have lost my fortune, Mr. Semple,’ she said, without raising her eyes.
‘What is that to me?—a flea-bite—a mere flea-bite;’ and Mr. Semple drummed on the table pleasantly with the tips of his fingers.
‘And you might perhaps find someone who was more attractive, more accomplished, more worthy to be the wife of a rich man than poor me,’ said the girl, almost humbly.
‘Oh, well; I dare say I might pick almost anywhere now; but we are old friends, and I have always liked you, Laura,so——’
He stretched out his hand and laid it upon hers.
At the touch she sprang to her feet as if she had been stung.
‘You wretch!’ she cried. ‘You cowardly, cruel monster! How dare you ask an honest girl to marry you! Do you think I would have accepted you as you were the other day? As little would I listen to you now!’
He shrank back amazed, angry, insulted—cowering before the girl’s scorn.
‘You think that because I pitied you and gave you money to save you from starvation that I forgot what a vile being you are. You helped to lay a snare for your cousin, who never so much as lifted a finger against you. You would have seen him sent into penal servitude innocent, that you might get this money. I never heard of such baseness. I could not have conceived that anyone could have been so mean, so cruel!’
‘It wasn’t my idea; I never knew what was going on.’
‘You changed the wills; and you were ready to swear your cousin’s liberty away, and let him spend his life in prison, while you——And you think you can come here and ask me to marry you as if you were not known. What did you take me for? Can you not imagine that a girl would die a thousand times rather than marry such as you? I think you had better go.’
Her last words were not needed. Semple hung his head like a slave caught in a theft, and slunk out of the room.