by G. A. Henty
“Well, I am glad he is going with you, Mark; for although I know well enough that they could never be watching for those diamonds to turn up all these years, I feel sure I should fidget and worry if you were alone. You are not going to take the others with you?”
“No, only this particular bracelet. None of the others are exceptionally valuable, so far as I know. At any rate, your father did not specially allude to them. I have no doubt that there are some really valuable jewels among them, for my uncle prided himself on being a judge of precious stones, and as he invested a large amount of money in them, they are, no doubt, worth a great deal. Still, I don’t suppose there will be any difficulty in selling them here, and, at any rate, I don’t want to be delayed at Amsterdam by having to sell perhaps fifty or a hundred pieces of jewelry; any time will do for that. I fancy that I ought to be able to dispose of the bracelet in three or four days at the outside. I have got from Bow Street a list of all the principal diamond merchants in Amsterdam. That is a matter of great interest to the force, as almost all precious stones stolen in this country are sent across there, and if there is any special jewel robbery we send over a list of all the articles taken to the merchants there. As a rule, that would not prevent their dealing in them, but there are some who will not touch things that have been dishonestly come by, and we occasionally get hints that enable us to lay hands upon thieves over there.”
“I hate to hear you say ‘the force,’ Mark, just as if you were still a detective; it is bad enough that you should have belonged to it, even for the purpose you did; but you have done with it now.”
“Yes; but, you see, it is rather difficult to get out of the habit when one has been for over a year constantly at work at a thing. This will be my last absence on business, Millicent; henceforward I shall be able to be always with you.”
“Well, now that I know what you have been doing all this time, Mark, I must admit that you have been very good to have been with us as much as you have. I often used to wonder how you passed your time. Of course I knew that you were trying to find that man out, but it did not seem to me that you could be always at that, and I never dreamt that you had become a regular detective. I am very glad I did not know it till a short time before you gave it up. In the first place, I should have been horrified, and, in the second place, I should have been constantly uneasy about you. However, as this is to be the last time, I will let you go without grumbling.”
“By the way, Millicent, what do you wish me to say about our engagement? I don’t see that there is the slightest occasion for us to keep up the farce of your being Miss Conyers any longer. You cannot be married under a false name, you know, and now that you have escaped what your father was so afraid of, and are going to be married for love and not for money, I don’t see why there should be any more mystery about it.”
“But how would you account for my having been called Conyers all this time?”
“I should simply tell the truth; that your father, having a great fear that you might be married for money, left the estate to my father, to be held by him until you came of age, and that it was at his particular request that you were brought up simply as his ward, and dropped the family name and passed by your two Christian names. I should say that we have all been aware for a long time of the facts of the case, and I should also say that your father had left a very large fortune in addition to the estate between us, and had expressed a hope that we should, when the time came, marry each other.”
“Then people will think that we have only married to keep the fortune together, Mark.”
“Well, my dear, I don’t suppose there are a great many people who will be interested in the matter, and those who get to know you will see at once that as far as I am concerned, there was no great difficulty in falling in with your father’s ideas, while, on the other hand, they may consider that you made a noble sacrifice of yourself in agreeing to the plan.”
“Nonsense, sir. I am not going to flatter you, as no doubt you expect; but, at any rate, I am perfectly content with my share of the bargain.”
“Well, there is one thing, Millicent; all who knew us down at Reigate will say that it is a very sensible arrangement, and will be glad to know that I shall retain the estate they have hitherto considered to be mine. Well, then, you agree to my mentioning to my intimate friends that you are my cousin, and that we are engaged?”
“Yes, I suppose it is the best thing, Mark, and, as you say, I must marry under my proper name, and it is just as well to get the talk over down at Reigate now, as for it all to come as a wonder when we are married.”
“When is that going to be, Millicent?”
“Oh, I don’t know; of course it will be a long time before we even think of that.”
“I beg your pardon, I am thinking of it now, and I can see no reason whatever why it should be delayed. We know each other well enough, I should think, and there is no probability of our changing our minds on discovering all sorts of faults, that we never dreamt, in each other. I may be away for a fortnight, and I would suggest that you had better make your preparations at once, so that we can be married a fortnight after I come back.”
“You say that there is no fear of our discovering faults in each other. I can assure you that I have just discovered a very serious fault, namely, that you are altogether too masterful, too bent upon having your own way. I know you always were so when you were a boy, but I hoped you had grown out of it; now I see that I was altogether mistaken. Seriously, Mark, your proposal is absurd.”
“Where does the absurdity come in, Millicent?”
“Well, everywhere,” she said gravely.
“Which in the present case means nowhere,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me, Millicent, that in this town there are not a hundred dressmakers, each of whom could turn you out a wedding dress and as many other garments as you can possibly require in the course of a month, or even if that effort were too stupendous, that you could not divide the work among a dozen of them?”
“Well, I don’t say that could not be done,” Millicent admitted reluctantly.
“Well, what other objection is there?”
“Well, you see, one does not, like to be bustled in such a matter as this, Mark. One likes to think it all over and to realize it to one’s self.”
“Well, dear, you will have a fortnight while I am away to think and to realize as much as you like. I can see no advantage myself in waiting a single day longer than there is a necessity for; I have been for the last year coming here merely as a visitor, and I want to take possession of you and have you all to myself. I suppose Mrs. Cunningham will be coming in presently, and I will put the matter to her. If she says you cannot be ready in a month I must give you another week, but I don’t think that she will say so. By the way, how about her?”
“I was thinking of that last night, Mark. It would be very lonely for her to live by herself now, and you see she has always been as a mother to me.”
“Quite so, dear; and I am sure that I should have no objection to her coming back to Crowswood, and living there as a friend, and helping you in the housekeeping.”
“Thank you very much, Mark; I should like that in every way. You see, I know nothing whatever about housekeeping; and besides, when you are out, it would be a great thing to have her with me, for it would be very lonely by myself in that big house.”
“Well, we will have her there, by all means, dear, if she likes to come; you had better talk it over with her. Ah! here she is.
“We were just talking over the time it will take Millicent to get ready,” he said, “and I shall be glad of your opinion. I have been telling her that I am going away for a fortnight, and have proposed that the marriage should come off a fortnight later. I cannot see any use in delay, and she does not either; at least, I suppose not, for the only objection she has advanced is that there will be but a short time in which to get her things ready. That strikes me as being all nonsense. I could get things ready for ten weddings in that
time. What do you think?”
“I see no reason for delay,” Mrs. Cunningham said; “and assuredly a month ought to be sufficient to get everything made.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cunningham; then we can consider that settled, Millicent!”
“I call this tyranny, Mrs. Cunningham,” Millicent protested. “He says he proposes that we shall be married in a month; it is not a proposal at all, it is an order. If he had wanted me in such a hurry he might have said so a year ago, and now that he has made up his mind at last, he wants everything done in a hurry.”
“It is the nature of men, my dear; they are all alike in that respect. I think you had better make up your mind to it, especially as I have no doubt in this case the order is not a very unpleasant one.”
“You are too bad, Mrs. Cunningham,” Millicent said. “I made sure that I should find you on my side, and it seems you have gone over altogether to the enemy.”
“Where are you going to?” asked Mrs. Cunningham of Mark.
“I am going across to Amsterdam to sell that bracelet. My uncle expressed a particular wish to my father that he should do so immediately it came into his possession. Dick Chetwynd is going over with me, and if the weather is fair it will be a pleasant trip.”
“Where are you thinking of going after the marriage?”
“We have not talked it over yet. My own idea is that, as neither of us has been abroad, we might as well take this opportunity for seeing something of the Continent. Of course we cannot go to France, things are in too disturbed a state there; but we might go to Brussels, and then into Germany, and perhaps as far as Vienna, and then down into Italy; but of course, if Millicent prefers it, we will simply take a tour through England and Scotland.”
“Oh, I am glad that I am to have some voice in the matter,” Millicent said. “However, I should like the tour you propose very much, Mark. I have often thought that I should like to see Italy above all places.”
“Well, then, we will consider that settled. And now, what are you going to do for today?”
CHAPTER XIX
The Essex was to sail at eleven o’clock. Half an hour before that time Mark’s hackney coach drew up at the wharf. Ten minutes later Dick Chetwynd, who had, like Mark, driven by a circuitous route, and had made several stoppages, joined him, and as they shook hands slipped a parcel into his hand, and this Mark at once pocketed, and buttoned his coat up tightly; then hailing a boat, they went on board together; they had sent their luggage on the previous evening. On getting on board Mark saw the two prize fighters walking up and down the deck aft. They were quietly dressed, and save for their size would have attracted no attention, and would have been taken for two countrymen on their way to Holland on business.
The two detectives were seated forward, their appearance being that of two quiet business men, commercial travelers or small traders. The two friends first went below, and saw to the cabin which they were to share, and found their luggage was all there. Then they returned on deck. Four or five other passengers were standing watching the last bales of goods coming on board. The tide was just on the turn, and a quarter of an hour later the warps were thrown off, and some of the sails hoisted, and the Essex began to move through the water.
“Look there, Dick!” Mark exclaimed. “Do you see that boat lying on its oars in the middle of the stream? That man sitting in the stern is a foreigner, either from Southern Europe or from India.”
“He is certainly a dark man, Mark. Still, that may be only a coincidence.”
“It is rather a curious one,” Mark said. “We are too far off to see his features, but he is apparently watching us off. There, the oars are dipping into the water, now he sees that we are fairly under way.”
“Well, Mark, I shall begin to think that you are right. I am bound to say that hitherto I thought that it was ridiculous to suppose that you could have been watched as you thought, and that you had got these diamonds on your brain till you had really become fanciful. However, it certainly looks as if you were right; but even if you were, how on earth could they have found out that we were going by this ship?”
“That is more than I can tell; if they have been watching me they must have known that I was intimate with you; they have seen me come out of Cotter’s Bank, and afterwards enter your lodgings; they would feel sure that I had heard that there would be danger connected with the diamonds, and might suppose that I should get some friend to take them from the bank, and may have followed your movements as well as mine. In that case they would have found out that you also went to Cotter’s Bank; may have followed you to Tower Street, and found out that you had taken a passage for two to Amsterdam. They may again have seen you go to the bank this morning and have guessed that you had the diamonds about you, and then seeing us together on the wharf would feel pretty certain that it was so. One of them may have hired that boat and watched the Essex to see that neither of us went on shore again.”
“Now they see that we are off they will know that their game is up,” Chetwynd said.
“I am not so sure of that, Dick; there are craft going every day to Antwerp and Flushing, and for anything we know some of them may be on board a craft already dropping down like ourselves by this tide. But even if we had twelve hours’ start, by landing, say at Flushing, they would have time to cross by land to Amsterdam and get there before us.”
“Yes, I suppose they would; anyhow, it is pretty certain that we shall not be troubled on the voyage.”
“Yes, I never thought there was much danger of that, because even if they were on board they would see that you and I, being always together, could not be got rid of without an alarm being given.”
Not until they were passing Greenwich did either of the detectives come near Mark, then as he and Dick were standing by the bulwarks, looking at the hospital, Chester strolled across the deck and, pointing to the building as if asking him some question about it, said:
“There is a colored man forward, dressed as a sailor.”
“Is that so?” Mark said. “I see no one aft here who looks suspicious, and I don’t think they will try anything till we get to Amsterdam. There was a colored man in a boat watching us as we set sail.”
“I saw him, sir. Can he get to Amsterdam before us?”
“Yes, I have no doubt he can; if he lands at Flushing or Antwerp, and takes a post chaise or a diligence, I should say he could get there twenty-four hours before us. Certainly he could do so if he landed at The Hague, as we have to go a long way round to get into the Zuyder Zee. That is where the real danger will be; still you had better keep a sharp lookout on the man forward.”
No more was said. Mark was not long in getting into conversation with the other passengers aft, and later on strolled forward with Dick, asking the sailors some questions as to what sort of passage they were likely to have, and how the wind suited. The men agreed that unless the wind shifted they would not be likely to make a quick passage.
“The wind is northeasterly,” one of them said. “We can only just lay our course now, and it will be dead against us in some of the reaches. Still, I think we shall manage to make down to sea with only a tack or two, but when we are once fairly out of the river it will be a long leg and a short one, and going up round the Texel it will be dead against us. Except that it would be a bit worse if it had a little more east in it, it is about as foul a wind as we could have, and I don’t see any sign of a change, worse luck.”
Presently, moving about among them, he got next to Gibbons.
“I don’t think we shall have any trouble on board,” he said; “if there is any, it will be after we have landed. But you can keep an eye on that foreign sailor standing alone there up in the bows.”
“All right, sir; if you like, I can manage to get into a quarrel with him, and can warrant that he won’t get out of his berth before it is time to go ashore.”
“No, I would leave him alone, Gibbons; as long as he is forward he can do no harm; but if you see him working his way aft, a
fter it gets dark, it will do him no harm if you manage to stumble against him and give him a clout on the head.”
“All right, sir; if I hit him once he won’t want another. The fellow seems quiet enough, and as far as strength goes he don’t look stronger than a girl.”
After chatting for some time longer Mark and Dick Chetwynd went aft again. The Essex did not put into any intermediate port, and it was only on the sixth day after sailing that she approached Amsterdam. The voyage had passed off without any incident except that at nine o’clock one evening there had been a slight noise on deck and the sound of a fall. The friends went up at once. Several of the sailors had run aft, and Gibbons was explaining matters to them.
“I was walking up and down the deck,” he said, “when I saw this chap staring down through the skylight, and I said to him, ‘I don’t call it good manners to be prying down into your betters’ cabin.’ He did not answer or move, so I gave him a push, when he turned upon me like a wild cat, and drew his knife from his girdle. There it is, on the other side of the deck. As I did not want daylight put into me, I just knocked him down.”
“Served him right,” one of the sailors said. “He had no right to come aft at all, and if he drew his knife on you, you were quite right in laying him out. But you must have hit him mighty hard, for you have knocked the life pretty near out of him. Well, we may as well carry him forward and throw a bucket of water over him. That is the worst of these foreign chaps; they are always so ready with their knives. However, I don’t think he will be likely to try his hand on an Englishman again.”
Mark and his friend went below again. In the morning Mark asked one of the sailors if the foreigner was much hurt.
