CHAPTER XVI.
LETTERS FROM FLORENCE.
Aunt Rob, a healthy, homely woman of forty-five, was standing at thedoor of her house, looking up and down the street for the form of oneshe loved, looking up to heaven for a message to ease her bruisedheart. A terrible blow had fallen upon her home, and the grief, thefear, the tortured love in her eyes, were pitiable to see. Before Dickwas near enough to observe these signs of distress she had caughtsight of him and was running towards him, the tears streaming down hercheeks.
"Oh, Dick, Dick!" she cried. "You have come to tell us about Florence!Where is she? What message has she sent? Is she safe, is she well? Whydon't you speak? Can't you see that I'm heartbroken, heartbroken? ForGod's sake, speak!"
In truth he could not. The overwhelming terror and surprise that fellupon him deprived him for a time of the power of speech; he could donothing but stare at her in dismay and alarm. When speech was restoredto him he said, in a voice as agitated as her own.
"I don't know what you mean, Aunt Rob. I have brought no message fromFlorence. I came to see her." Involuntarily his hand wandered to hisbreast, where Florence's handkerchief lay.
"You are deceiving me," she said, her limbs trembling, her faceconvulsed; "you are punishing me because I said it was time you lookedafter yourself! Perhaps I was as unhappy as you were when you left thehouse. If you had been a little more patient with me you would neverhave gone away." She turned from him, her body shaking with grief.
"Dear Aunt Rob," he said, passing his arm around her, "indeed, indeedthere is no thought in my mind that is not charged with love for youand Uncle Rob and Florence. I would lay down my life for you. I seethat something terrible has occurred. What is it--where is Florence?But, no, don't answer me in the street. Come inside--come, come!"
His heart beat fast and loud as he led the sobbing woman into thehouse.
"Don't shut the door, Dick," she sobbed. "It shall never be said thatI shut my door against my child. Day and night it shall be open to herif she comes back as she went away, a good and innocent girl. But ifshe comes back with the loss of her good name---- Oh, my God! What amI saying--what am I saying?"
"Ah," said Dick, in a tone of stern reproof, "what are you saying,indeed, Aunt Rob, when you couple Florence's name with thoughts likethose? You, her mother, who have had daily proofs of her purity andgoodness! My life upon her innocence--my life, my life! Though all theworld were against her I would stand by her side, and strike downthose who dared defame her. For shame, Aunt Rob, for shame!"
"Oh, Dick, you comfort me--you comfort me!" She took his hand, andkissed it, and he bent forward and kissed her lips. "I would not havesaid it, but I am torn this way and that with doubt and despair. It'sthe suspense, Dick, the suspense! Oh, Florence, Florence, the best,the sweetest, the dearest! Where are you, my dear, where are you?"
"Attend to me, Aunt Rob," said Dick, holding himself in control inorder that he might the better control her. "You must not go on likethis--you must calm yourself--for Florence's sake, for your own andUncle Rob's. If I am to be of any assistance--and I am here for thatpurpose, heart and hand--I must know what has happened. Try and becalm and strong, as you have always been, and we shall be able to workour way through this trouble--yes, we shall. That's right--dry youreyes"----
"I have been unkind to you, Dick," she said, with an imploring look athim.
"You have never been unkind--to me or to anyone. It isn't in yournature. Whatever happens to me I've brought upon myself and I'm goingto reform and become a pattern to all young fellows who want to beGood (with a capital G, please, Aunt Rob) and don't exactly know howto set about it."
"You'd put heart in a stone, Dick," said Aunt Rob, checking her sobs."Let me be a minute, and I shall be all right."
The room in which they were conversing looked out upon the street, andturning his back upon his aunt while she was battling with her grief,he peered this way and that, as she had done, and listened for thesound of a familiar footstep in the passage. He raised up a picture ofFlorence running suddenly in, laughing, with her hair tumbling overher shoulders, as he had often seen it, and throwing her arms roundher mother's neck, crying, "Why, what is all this fuss about? Can't agirl go out for a walk without turning the house upside down? Oh, youfoolish people!" And then throwing her arms round _his_ neck in hersisterly way, and asking, in pretended anger, what he meant by lookingas serious as if the world was coming to an end? He could almost hearher voice. The room was filled with little mementoes of her, dumbmemorials with a living spirit in them. There was a framed picture ofher on the wall, a lovely face, bright and open, brown eyes in whichdwelt the spirit of truth, dark brown hair with a wilful tendency totumble down and kiss the fair neck--(the most distracting, teasing,bewitching hair; in short, Florence's hair)--smiling mouth in whichthere was innocent gaiety, but no sign of weakness; the typical faceof a young girl of an ingenuous, trustful nature. A close observerwould have detected in it an underlying earnestness, indicatingtenacity and firmness of purpose where those qualities were required,and would have judged her one who would go straight to her duty andbrave the consequences, whatever they might be. Gazing at thatembodiment of happy, healthy springtime Dick said inly, "Florence doanything that is not sweet, and pure, and womanly! I would not believeit if an angel from heaven came down and told me!"
Aunt Rob turned to him, calmer and more composed. "Tears have done megood, Dick," she said. "It would ease a man's heart if he could cry aswe can."
"We feel as much, Aunt Rob," he replied.
"I don't doubt it, Dick. Uncle Rob went away with dry eyes in a stateof distraction; he is flying everywhere in search of Florence."
"She has gone?" His voice was strange in his ears. Prepared as he wasfor the news it came as a shock upon him.
"She has gone," said Aunt Rob, covering her face with her hands.
"Don't give way again, aunt. Pull yourself together, and tell me all."
"I will, Dick, as much as I know. You haven't been in the house for afortnight, or you would have noticed that Florence was changed. Sheseldom smiled, she neither played nor sang, her step had lost itslightness. She wouldn't let me do anything for her, and I settled itin my mind that it was a lover's quarrel. I _must_ speak about Mr.Reginald, Dick."
"Yes, aunt, go on."
"We had seen for some time that they were fond of each other. Therewas no regular engagement; it hadn't come to that, but we were youngourselves once, and we knew the ways of young people. So we made Mr.Reginald welcome, and we saw how happy Florence was to have him withus. It was on the tip of my tongue more than once to ask him to tellus more about himself than we knew, but Uncle Rob stopped me. 'All ingood time,' he said, 'a few months, or even a year or two, won't makemuch difference. I'm not in a hurry to get rid of Florence.' More wasI, but I was beginning to wish that things were settled, whether itwas to be a long engagement or a short one. There was a change in Mr.Reginald, too, I couldn't tell in what way, but there it was in hisface. He came and dined with us Sunday week, and since then I haven'tset eyes on him. You know what last night was--the most dreadful fogwe have had for years. It was at about five o'clock that I sawFlorence with her hat and mantle on. 'Why, child,' I said to her, 'youare never going out in this thick fog!' 'Yes, I am, mother,' sheanswered. 'Don't fear that I shall be lost; I'll soon be back.' Shewas as good as her word, for she was home again before Uncle Rob wentto the Station, and the three of us had tea together. She helped himon with his coat, and I recollected afterwards how she kissed andclung to him when he wished her good night. It was in her mind then torun away. At eight o'clock there was a knock at the street door, andFlorence ran out to answer it. She often did so when she expected aletter from Mr. Reginald. She kept in the passage a little while and Iheard the rustling of paper, but she had nothing in her hand when shereturned to the room. Her face was very white, and she said she had aheadache, and would go to bed early. I asked her if she had received alet
ter, and she answered, yes, she had, and said, 'Don't ask me anyquestions about it, please, mother.' 'Do answer me only one,' Ibegged. 'Have you and Mr. Reginald quarrelled?' 'Oh, no,' sheanswered, and I knew she was speaking the truth, or she wouldn't haveanswered at all. She was very gentle and quiet, and I thought tomyself, 'Oh, my dear, my dear, why don't you confide in your motherwho loves the ground you tread on?' But _you_ know what Florence is,Dick. She takes after me in a good many ways. Nothing will make mespeak if I make up my mind not to, and it's the same with her. See,now, how we put our own faults into our children. So we sat at thefireside, and I felt as if there was a wall between us. She had somesewing in her lap, but not a stitch did she do. There she sat, staringinto the fire. Ah, I thought, if I could see what you see I shouldknow! Suddenly she knelt down and laid her head in my lap, and it wasas much as I could do to keep back my tears. I could have criedeasily, but I knew that my dear was in trouble, and that my cryingwould make it worse. Presently she raised her head and said, 'Mother,you love father very much.' 'With all my heart, darling,' I answered.'And you have always loved him,' she said again, 'and would haveendured anything for him?' My heart fell as I said that I had alwaysloved him, and would do anything in the world for him. She was quiet afew minutes, and then she said, 'You mustn't think I have doneanything wrong, mother.' 'I don't, my dear child, I don't,' I said.'It is only,' she said, 'that sometimes we are pulling two ways atonce.' Then she rose, and sitting by my side, laid her head upon mybreast. I was nursing my baby again, and would you believe it? I sangan old nursery song and kissed and kissed her, and smoothed herbeautiful hair, and we sat so for quite half an hour almost insilence. It was striking nine when she said she would go to bed, andas I didn't feel inclined to sit up alone I went to bed, too. We havebeen to bed much earlier, Dick, since you went away. Soon after nineall the lights were out and the house was quiet. In the middle of thenight I woke and went to her room, and called softly, 'Florence!Florence!' She didn't answer me, and I was glad to think she wasasleep. She always keeps her bedroom door locked, or I would have gonein. I get up earlier than she does, and I was down before eight; andthere on the mantelshelf was an envelope addressed, 'For Mother,' inFlorence's handwriting. There was a key inside, and my heart beat sothat I thought it would jump out of my body as I flew upstairs andopened the door with it. Florence was not in the room, and her bed hadnot been slept in. But on the dressing table, was another envelopeaddressed to me. I tore it open, and this is what I found inside."
She handed a sheet of notepaper to Dick, and he read:
"Darling Mother and Father,--I have gone away for a little whilebecause it is my duty to go. Do not be uneasy or unhappy about me. Iam quite safe, and very soon--as soon as ever I can--I will let youknow where I am, and what it is that took me away. It grieves mesorely to give you a moment's pain, but I am doing what I believe isright. With a heart full of love for you both, my dear, dear Motherand Father,
"Your Ever Loving and Devoted Daughter,
"Florence."
"What do you make of it, Dick?" asked Aunt Rob, her fingers twiningconvulsively.
"I make so much good out of it," he replied, handing the letter backto her, "that I wonder at your going on in the way you've done. Shesays she is quite safe, and will let you know soon what took her away.What more do you want to convince you that before long the mysterywill be cleared up? Upon my word, I've a good mind to be downrightangry with you."
He spoke with so much confidence that she brightened up, but thischeerful view of Florence's flight from home was not the genuineoutcome of his thoughts. Had he not disguised his feelings in hisdesire to comfort Aunt Rob, he would have struck terror to her heart.Every incident that presented itself deepened the shadows whichthreatened Florence's safety and the peace and happiness of the homeof which she was the pride and joy. The latest discovery, that of herflight, pointed almost to the certainty of her having been inCatchpole Square last night, and to her having dropped thehandkerchief which Constable Pond had given to his wife. Thankfulindeed, was Dick that the man had been guilty of a breach of duty. Hadhe delivered up the handkerchief at the Bishop Street Police Station,with an account of how he came by it, Florence's father would haverecognised it as belonging to his daughter, and he would have had anagonising duty before him. Perplexed and bewildered as Dick was bythese developments he succeeded in concealing his anxiety from AuntRob's observation.
"Have you any idea, Dick, what she means when she speaks of her duty?"she asked.
"None whatever," he replied. "Can you give me Mr. Reginald's address?"
"No. I never heard where he lived, and never asked him. He has writtenFlorence a good many letters, and now and then she has read me a bitout of them, but she never gave me one to read outright myself. Shehas left her desk behind her. Would I be justified in breaking itopen?"
"No, you would not. It would be showing a sad want of confidence inher. At what time do you expect uncle home?"
"I can't say with certainty. He may come in at any minute, or hemightn't come home till late. He's hunting high and low for Florence,and there's no knowing where he may be. He's got leave for a day'sabsence from the office. You're not going, Dick?" For Dick had put onhis hat, and was buttoning up his coat.
"I must. I've a lot of business to attend to, and I've an idea of aclue which may lead to something."
"You'll be back as soon as you can, won't you? Your room is allready."
"I know. Uncle Rob told me. But I can't come back to-night."
"Oh, Dick, haven't you forgiven me for the hard words I said to you?Don't harbour animosity, lad, don't! My temper got the better ofme----"
"My dear Aunt Rob," said Dick, interrupting her, "no son could love amother more than I love you. If I were base enough to harbouranimosity towards you or yours I shouldn't deserve to live. There'sthe postman's knock!"
They both ran out for the letter. "It's from Florence--fromFlorence!" cried Aunt Rob.
"My Darling Mother and Father" (Florence wrote)--"I am writing ahurried line to relieve your anxiety, only to let you know that I amsafe and well, and that I will write again to-morrow. When you knowall I am sure you will forgive me. Never forget, dear Mother, what Isaid to you last night, that I have done nothing wrong. God bless youboth. With my dearest, fondest love,
"Ever your faithful and affectionate daughter,
"Florence."
"If you see Dick, give him my love, and tell him all."
"That ought to satisfy you, Aunt Rob," said Dick. "She is safe, she iswell. My love to Uncle Rob."
He kissed her, waved his hand, and was gone.
The fog had entirely disappeared, and the contrast between the weatherof yesterday and that of to-day struck him as no less marked than thecontrast between himself of yesterday and himself of to-day. Yesterdayhe was one of the idlest of young fellows, lounging about with hishands in his pockets, with no work to do, and no prospect of any.To-day the hours were not long enough for the work he had to perform.As there are sluggish horses which need but the whip to make them golike steam, so there are men who cannot work without a strongincentive. Dick was of this order, and the incentive which hadpresented itself was in its nature so stirring as to bring into playall his mental and physical resources. Thus spurred on, you might havesearched London through without meeting his match.
The immediate object he had in view was to gain an entrance into thehouse of Samuel Boyd, and this must be done to-night. Whateverdiscoveries he made there, or if he made none, the ground would tosome extent be cleared. To accomplish his purpose he required a rope,with a grapnel at the end of it, strong enough to bear a man's weight.His funds were low. Of the sovereign Uncle Rob had given him, 3s. 6d.had gone for a week's rent, and 2s. for food; he had 14s. 6d. left.Knowing that there was a chance of picking up in some second-hand shopa rope and grapnel for half the money which they would cost new, heturned down the meanest st
reets, where humble dealers strove to ekeout a living. He passed a wardrobe shop in which male and femaleattire of the lowest kind was exposed for sale; a rag and bone shop,stuffed with articles fit for the dunghill, and over the door of whichan Aunt Sally in a perpetual slate of strangulation was spinning roundand round to the tune of a March wind; a fried fish shop through thewindow of which he saw a frowzy, perspiring woman frying penny pieces(heads), three halfpenny pieces (tails), and two penny pieces(middles); more wardrobe shops, more fried fish shops, more rag andbone shops, with black dolls spinning and strangling. In one of thesehe chanced upon the very thing he needed, and after a heateddiscussion with a dirty-faced old man in list slippers and a greasyskull cap, he issued from the fetid air within to the scarcely lessfetid air without, with the rope and grapnel wrapped in the torn copyof an evening paper.
Congratulating himself on his purchase he hurried along, andfinding himself no farther than half a mile from Draper's Mews, hedetermined--having an hour or two to spare--to go to No. 7, where poorlittle Gracie and her mother resided, for the purpose of ascertainingwhether anything had been discovered relating to the disappearance ofAbel Death.
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery Page 17
