CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE LAST.
How that wonderful man Detective Dean managed it all is best known tohimself and those myrmidons of the law who aided and abetted him in hisinvestigations, but certain it is that he prepared as pretty a littlethunderbolt for John Lockhart, Esquire, as any man could wish to see.
He not only ferreted out all the details of the matter involving theWashab and Roria railway and chimney-pot Liz, but he obtained proof,through a clerk in the solicitor's office, and a stain in a sheet ofpaper, and a half-finished signature, that the will by which MrLockhart intended to despoil Colonel Brentwood was a curiously-contrivedforgery. As men in search of the true and beautiful frequently stumbleby accident on truths for which they did not search, and beauties ofwhich they had formed no conception, so our detective unearthed aconsiderable number of smaller crimes of which the lawyer had beenguilty--to the satisfaction of all concerned and the establishment ofMrs Brentwood's character as a prophetess, so that "didn't I tell youso, Jack?" became a familiar arrangement of household words in the earsof the poor Colonel for some time afterwards.
But the man of law did not await the discharge of the thunderbolt. AsMr Dean expressed it, he was too 'cute for that. By some occult means,known only to legal men, he discovered what was in the air, took time bythe forelock, and retired into privacy--perhaps to the back settlementsof Peru--with all the available cash that he could righteously, orotherwise, scrape together. By so doing, however, he delivered ColonelBrentwood from all hindrance to the enjoyment of his rightful property,and opened the eyes of chimney-pot Liz to the true value of shares inthe Washab and Roria railway.
A few days after the culminating of these events--for things camerapidly to a head--Mrs Rampy of Cherub Court issued invitations for asmall tea-party. This was the more surprising that Mrs Rampy wasextremely poor, and had hitherto been economical to an extent whichdeprived her of a sufficiency of food even for herself. But theneighbours soon came to know that a line of telegraph had been recentlyset up between Cherub Court and the West End, through which flowedcontinuously a series of communications that were more or lessastounding and agreeable to the inhabitants. The posts of thistelegraph were invisible, the wires passed high overhead, very high, andthe particular kind of electricity used was--sympathy.
It must be explained here that it was the northern side of the courtwhich had been burned, so that Mrs Rampy, inhabiting the south side,still occupied her suite of apartments--a parlour and a coal-hole. Theparlour, having once been a ware-room, was unusually large and welladapted for a tea-party. The coal-hole, having been a mere recess, waswell adapted for puzzling the curious as to what had been the object ofits architect in contriving it.
The party was not large, but it was select. It included a washerwomanwith very red arms; a care-taker who had obviously failed to take careof herself; a couple of chimney-sweeps with partially washed faces; acharwoman with her friend the female greengrocer, who had been burnedout of the opposite side of the court; two or three coster-mongers, aburglar, several thieves, a footman in resplendent livery, a few noteddrunkards, and chimney-pot Liz with her teapot--not the original teapotof course--that had perished in the flames--but one indistinguishablylike it, which had been presented to her by Colonel Brentwood. She hadinsisted on carrying it with her to Cherub Court on that occasion, onthe ground that they would hardly recognise her without it, especiallynow that the fang was gone.
The resplendent footman had been the first guest to arrive, along withLiz, and was welcomed by the hostess and Mrs Blathers--who aided andabetted her friend on that occasion--with effusive demonstrations ofgoodwill and surprise. Thereafter the footman, who seemed to beeccentric, sat in a corner with his face buried in his hands, and didnot move while the other guests were assembling. When the room was fulland the tea poured out, Mrs Rampy looked at Liz with a sly awkward airwhich was quite foreign to her nature.
"Ah, Mrs Rampy," said Liz, "don't be ashamed."
"Lord, bless us--an' our wittles," said Mrs Rampy, suddenly shuttingher eyes as she opened her mouth, to the intense surprise of her guests."Now then," she added, in a tone of great relief, "go a-'ead w'enyou've got the chance. There's more w'ere that come from. 'And aboutthe cake, Mrs Blathers, like a good creetur. An' it ain't much o' thisblow-hout you owes to me. I on'y supplied the sugar, 'cause that was inthe 'ouse anyways."
"It is a good deed, Mrs Rampy," said old Liz, with a smile, "if you'vesupplied all the sweetness to the feast."
"That's a lie!" cried the hostess sharply. "It was _you_ that suppliedit. If it 'adn't bin for you, Liz, I'd never 'ave--"
Mrs Rampy broke down at this point and threw her apron over her head toconceal her feelings. At the same moment the eccentric footman raisedhis head, and something like a pistol-shot was heard as the burglarbrought his palm down on his thigh, exclaiming--
"I know'd it! Trumps--or his ghost!"
"'E's too fat for a ghost," remarked a humorous thief.
"No, mate, I _ain't_ Trumps," said the resplendent man, rising beforethe admiring gaze of the party. "My name is Rodgers, footman to ColonelBrentwood of Weston 'All. I'm a noo man, houtside an' in; an' I've comeere a-purpuse to surprise you, not only wi' the change in my costoom,but wi' the noos that my master's comin' down 'ere to see arter you abit, an' try if 'e can't 'elp us hout of our difficulties; an' e'sagoin' to keep a missionary, hout of 'is own pocket, to wisit in thisdistrict an' they're both comin' 'ere this wery night to take tea withus. An' 'e's bringin' a lord with 'im--a live lord--"
"Wot better is a live lord than any other man?" growled a thief withradical proclivities.
"Right you are, Jim Scroodger," said Trumps, turning sharply on thespeaker; "a live lord is no better than any other man unless 'e _is_better! Indeed, considerin' 'is circumstances, 'e's a good deal wuss if'e's no better; but a live lord is better than a dead thief, w'ichyou'll be soon, Jim, if you don't mend yer ways."
"Hear! hear!" and a laugh from the company.
"Moreover," continued Trumps, "the lord that's a-comin' _is_ better thanmost other men. He's a trump--"
"Not a brother o' yourn--eh?" murmured the burglar. "W'y, Trumps, Ithought you was a detective!"
"Not in _plain_ clo'es, surely," remarked the humorous thief.
"'Ave another cup o' tea, man, and shut up," cried Mrs Blathers,growing restive.
"Well, ladies and gen'lemen all," resumed Trumps, with a benignantsmile, "_you_ know this lord that's a-comin'. Some o' you made 'im apresent of a barrow an' a hass once--"
"_I_ know 'im! Bless 'is 'eart," cried a coster-monger through amouthful of cake.
At that moment the expected guests arrived.
But reader, we must not dwell upon what followed. There is no need. Itis matter of history.
While the inhabitants of the slums were thus enjoying a social eveningtogether, David Laidlaw was busy with one of his numerous epistles tothat repository of all confidences--his mother.
"The deed is done, mither," he wrote, "an' the waux doll is mine, forbetter or waur, till death us do pairt. Of course I dinna mean thatwe're mairried yet. Na, na! That event must be celebrated on the Braeso' Yarrow, wi' _your_ help an' blessin'. But we're engaged, an' that'shappiness enough the now. If I was to describe my state o' mind in aeword, I wud say--thankfu'. But losh, woman, that gies ye but a faintnotion o' the whirligigs that hae been gaun on i' my heed an' hairtsince I came to Bawbylon. Truly, it's a wonderfu' place--wi' itspalaces and dens; its rich an' its puir; its miles upon miles o' hoosesan' shops; its thoosands on thoosands o' respectable folk, an' itshundred o' thoosands o' thieves an' pickpockets an' burglars--to saynaething o' its prisons an' lawyers an' waux dolls!
"But I'm haverin'. Ye'll be gled t' hear that Colonel Brentwood--himthat befreended me--is a' richt. His lawyer turned oot to be a leearan' a swindler. The will that was to turn the Colonel oot o' a' hispossessions is a forgery. His bonny bairn Rosa, is, like mysel', gaun'to be mairrie
d; an' as the Colonel has nae mair bairns, he's gaun' todevote himsel'--so his wife says--to `considerin' the poor.' Frae mypersonal observation o' Lunnon, he'll hae mair than enough to consider,honest man!
"In my last letter I gied ye a full accoont o' the fire, but I didnatell 'e that it was amang the chimley-pots and bleezes that I was movedto what they ca' `pop the question' to my Susy. It was a daft-likething to do, I confess, especially for a sedate kin' o' man like me;but, woman, a man's no jist himsel' at sik a time! After a', it was agraund climax to my somewhat queer sort o' coortin'. The only thing I'mfeart o' in Bawbylon is that the wee crater Tammy Splint should come token aboot it, for I wad niver hear the end o't if he did. Ye see,though he was there a' the time, he didna ken what I was about.Speakin' o' that, the bairn has been made a flunkey by the Colonel--ateeger they ca' him. What's mair surprisin' yet is, that he has ta'enthe puir thief Trumps--alias Rodgers--into his hoosehold likewise, andmade _him_ a flunkey. Mrs Brentwood--Dory, as he ca's her--didna quitelike the notion at first; but the Colonel's got a wonderfu' wheedlin'wey wi' him, an' whan he said, `If you an' I have been redeemed an'reinstated, why should not Rodgers?' Dory, like a wise woman, gied in.The argement, ye ken, was unanswerable. Onywie, he's in plush now, anwhite stockin's.
"An' that minds me that they've putt the wee laddie Splint into bluetights wi' brass buttons. He just looks like an uncanny sort o'speeder! It's a daft-like dress for onything but a puggy, but thebairn's as prood o't as if it was quite reasonable. It maitters littlewhat he putts on, hooiver, for he wad joke an' cut capers, baithpheesical an' intellectual, I verily believe, if he was gaun to behanged!
"My faither-in-law to be, Sam Blake, says he'll come to Scotland for thewadd'n, but he'll no' stop. He's that fond o' the sea that he cannaleave 't. It's my opeenion that he'll no' rest till he gits a pirit'sknife in his breed-baskit. Mair's the peety, for he's a fine man. Butthe best news I've got to tell 'e, mither, is, that Colonel Brentwoodan' his wife an' daughter an' her guidman--a sensible sort o' chiel,though he _is_ English--are a' comin' doon to spend the autumn on theBraes o' Yarrow.
"Noo, I'll stop. Susy's waitin' for me, an' sends her love.--Yeraffectionate son, DAVID LAIDLAW."
We must take the liberty now, good reader, of directing your attentionto another time and place.
And, first, as regards time. One day, three weeks after the eventswhich have just been narrated, Mrs Brentwood took Susan Blake through astained glass door out upon a leaded roof and bade her look about her.The roof was not high up, however. It only covered the kitchen, whichwas a projection at the back of the Colonel's mansion.
Susan, somewhat surprised, looked inquiringly in the lady's face.
"A fine view, is it not?" asked Mrs Brentwood.
"Very fine indeed," said Susy, and she was strictly correct, for theback of the house commanded an extensive view of one of the mostbeautiful parts of Hampstead Heath.
"Does it not remind you, Susan, a little, a very little, of the viewsfrom the garret-garden?" asked the lady, with a curious expression inher handsome eyes.
"Well, hardly!" replied Susan, scarce able to repress a smile. "Yousee, there is no river or shipping, and one misses the chimney-pots!"
"Chimney-pots!" exclaimed Mrs Brentwood, "why, what do you call these?"pointing to a row of one-storey stables not far off, the roofs of whichwere variously ornamented with red pots and iron zigzag pipes. "As tothe river, don't you see the glimmer of that sheet of water through thetrees in the distance, a pond or canal it is, I'm not sure which, butI'm quite sure that the flag-staff of our eccentric naval neighbour issufficiently suggestive of shipping, is it not?"
"Well, madam, if one tries to make believe _very_ much--"
"Ah, Susan, I see you have not a powerful imagination! Perhaps it is aswell! Now, I have brought you here to help me with a plot which is tobe a great secret. You know it is arranged that dear old nurse is tospend the summer on the Braes of Yarrow with the Laidlaws, and thewinter in London with me. So I want you to fit up this roof of thekitchen _exactly_ in the way you arranged the garden on the roof atCherub Court. I will send a carpenter to measure the place forflower-boxes, and our gardener will furnish you with whatever seeds youmay require. Now, remember, _exactly_ the same, even to the rusticchair if you can remember it."
You may be very sure that Susy entered with right goodwill into thislittle plot. She had been temporarily engaged by Mrs Brentwood aslady's-maid, so that she might have present employment and a home beforeher marriage, and then travel free of expense with the family toScotland, where she should be handed over to her rightful owner. Theoffice of lady's-maid was, however, a mere sinecure, so the bride hadplenty of time to devote to the garden. Old Liz, meanwhile, wascarefully confined to another part of the house so that she might notdiscover the plot, and the tiger, from whom no secrets could by anypossibility be kept, was forbidden to "blab" on pain of instant deathand dismissal.
"Now, Da-a-a-vid," remarked that Blue Spider, when he communicated thesecret to _him_, "mum's the word. If you mentions it, the kernel'sfamily will bu'st up. I will return to the streets from vich I came.Trumps, _alias_ Rodgers, to the den hout of vich 'e was 'auled. Susanwill take the wail and retire to a loonatic asylum, an' Da-a-a-vidLaidlaw will be laid low for the rest of 'is mortial career."
"Ne'er fash yer heed about me, Tammy, my man, I'm as close as aneyster."
We pass now from the far south to the other side of the Borderland.
Great Bawbylon is far behind us. The breezy uplands around tell that wehave reached the Braes of Yarrow. A huge travelling carriage is slowlytoiling up the side of a hill. Inside are Colonel and Mrs Brentwood,Rosa and chimney-pot Liz. Beside the driver sits Trumps in travellingcostume. In the rumble are Susan Blake and Tommy Splint. Rosa'shusband and Sam Blake are to follow in a few days.
"Oh, what a lovely scene!" exclaimed Susy, as the carriage gained thesummit of an eminence, and pulled up to breathe the horses.
"Yaas. Not so bad--for Scotland," said the tiger languidly.
"And what a pretty cottage!" added Susan, pointing to an eminence justbeyond that on which they had halted, where a long low whitewasheddwelling lay bathed in sunshine.
"Yaas. And, I say, Susy, yonder is a native," said Tommy, becomingsuddenly animated, "and--well--I do believe, _without_ a kilt! But he'sgot the reg'lar orthodox shepherd's--whew!"
A prolonged whistle ended the boy's sentence, as he glanced quickly inSusan's face. The flushed cheeks told eloquently that she also had madea discovery; and the rapid strides of the "native" showed that he waslikewise affected in a similar way.
The Colonel's head,--thrust out at the carriage window, and exclaiming,"Why, Dora, we've arrived! Here is Mr Laidlaw himself!"--completed, asit were, the _tableau vivant_.
Another moment and hands were being heartily shaken with the insides.But David did not linger. Nodding pleasantly to the tiger, he held upboth hands. Being so tall, he just managed to reach those of Susan, asshe stood up in the rumble.
"Jump!" he said; "ye needna fear, my lassie."
Susan jumped, and was made to alight on Scottish soil like a feather ofeider-down. Laidlaw stooped, apparently to whisper something in thegirl's ear, but, to the unspeakable delight of the observant tiger, hefailed to get past the mouth, and whispered it there!
"Go it, Da-a-a-vid!" exclaimed the urchin, with a patronising wink and abroad smile.
"Look there, Susy," said Laidlaw, pointing to the sun-bathed cottage.
"Home?" asked the maiden, with an inquiring glance.
"Hame!" responded David. "Mither is waiting for 'e there. Do ye seethe track across the field where the burn rins? It's a short cut. Thecoach'll have to gang roond by the brig. Rin, lassie!"
He released Susy, who sprang down the bank, crossed the streamlet by aplank bridge, and ran into the cottage, where she found Mrs Laidlaw inthe passage, with eager eyes, but labouring under powerfulself-restraint.
"Mother
!" exclaimed Susy, flinging her arms round the stout old woman'sneck.
"Eh!--my bonnie wee doo!" said Mrs Laidlaw, as she looked kindly downon the little head and stroked the fair hair with her toil-worn hands,while a venerable old man stood beside her, looking somewhat imbecile,and blowing his nose.
Just then the carriage rolled up to the door, and Mrs Laidlaw, leavingher "auld man" for a few minutes to do the honours of the house, retiredto her chamber, and there on her knees confessed, thankfully, that she,like her son, had been effectually conquered by a "waux doll!"
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Reader, what more can we say? Is it necessary to add that, the twoprincipals in the business being well pleased, everybody else wassatisfied? We think not. But it may not be uninteresting to statethat, from that auspicious day, a regular system of annual visitationwas established between Bawbylon and the Braes of Yarrow, which heldgood for many a year; one peculiarity of the visitation being that theBawbylonians and their progeny revelled on the braes chiefly in summer,while the Yarrowites, with their bairns, always took their southernflight in winter. Thus our two old women, Mrs Laidlaw and chimney-potLiz--who fought rather shy of each other at first, but became mutualadmirers at last--led, as it were, a triple life; now on the sunnyslopes and amid the sweet influences of the braes, anon in the smoke andthe unsavoury odours of the slums, and sometimes amid the refinementsand luxury of the "West End," in all of which situations they were fainto confess that "the ways of God are wonderful and past finding out."
Of course David Laidlaw did not fail to redeem his promise to revisitthe thieves' den, and many a man and youth was he the means of pluckingfrom the jaws of spiritual death during his occasional and frequentvisits to London--in which work he was ably seconded by Tommy Splint,when that volatile spirit grew up to manhood. And among theircoadjutors none were more helpful in the work of bringing souls toChrist than Mrs Rampy and her bosom-friend Mrs Blathers.
Strange to say, Liz came to her end in a garret after all. On a rawNovember day she went, under the care of Susy, to visit an old friendnear Cherub Court, in a garret not very unlike her old home. Whilethere she was struck down. There was no pain--apparently no disease;simply a sudden sinking of the vital powers. They laid the dear oldwoman on her friend's bed, and in half-an-hour she had passed away,while the faithful Susy held her hand and whispered words from theMaster in her ear. Thus old Liz, having finished her grand work onearth, was transplanted from the Garret in the slums to the Garden ofthe Lord.
THE END.
The Garret and the Garden; Or, Low Life High Up Page 13
