There was a crash in Mrs. Morton’s kitchen, where an elegant five o’clock tea was preparing, not only to greet Herbert, who had just come home to await the news of his fate after the last military examination open to him, but also for a friend or two of his mother’s, who, to his great annoyance, might be expected to drop in on any Wednesday afternoon.
Every one ran out to see what was the matter, and the maid was found picking up Mrs. Morton’s silver teapot, the basket-work handle of which had suddenly collapsed under the weight of tea and tea-leaves. The mistress’s exclamations and objurgation of the maid for not having discovered its frail condition need not be repeated. It had been a wedding-present, and was her great pride. After due examination to see whether there were any bruises or dents, she said—
‘Well, Ida, we must have yours; run and fetch it out of the box. You have the key of it.’ And she held out the key of the cupboard where the spoons were daily taken out by herself or Ida.
p. 231The teapot had been left to Ida by a godmother, who had been a farmer’s wife, with a small legacy, but was of an unfashionable make and seldom saw the light.
‘That horrid, great clumsy thing!’ said Ida. ‘You had much better use the blue china one.’
‘I’ll never use that crockery for company when there’s silver in the house! What would Mrs. Denham say if she dropped in?’
‘I won’t pour out tea in that ugly, heavy brute of a thing.’
‘Then if you won’t, I will. Give me the key this instant!’
‘It is mine, and I am not going to give it up!’
‘Come, Ida,’ said Herbert, weary of the altercation; ‘any one would think you had made away with it! Let us have it for peace’s sake.’
‘It’s no business of yours.’
He whistled. However, at that moment the door-bell rang.
It was to admit a couple of old ladies, whom both the young people viewed as very dull company; and the story of the illness of ‘my brother, Lord Northmoor,’ as related by their mother, had become very tedious, so that as soon as possible they both sauntered out on the beach.
‘I wonder when uncle will send for you!’ Ida said. ‘He must give you a good allowance now.’
‘Don’t talk of it, Ida; it makes me sick to think of it. I say—is that the old red rock where they saw the last of the poor little kid?’
‘Yes; that was where his hat was.’
‘Did you find it? Was it washed up?’
p. 232‘Don’t talk of such dreadful things, Bertie; I can’t bear it! And there’s Rose Rollstone!’
Ida would have done her utmost to keep her brother and Rose Rollstone apart at any other time, but she was at the moment only too glad to divert his attention, and allowed him, without protest, to walk up to Rose, shake hands with her, and rejoice in her coming home for good; but, do what Ida would, she could not keep him from recurring to the thought of the little cousin of whom he had been very fond.
‘Such a jolly little kid!’ he said; ‘and full of spirit! You should have seen him when I picked him up before me on the cob. How he laughed!’
‘So good, too,’ said Rose. ‘He looked so sweet with those pretty brown eyes and fair curls at church that last Sunday.’
‘I can’t make out how it was. The tide could not have been high enough to wash him off going round that rock, or the other children would not have gone round it.’
‘Oh, I suppose he ran after a wave,’ said Ida hastily.
‘Do you know,’ said Rose mysteriously, ‘I could have declared I saw him that very evening, and with his nursery-maid, too!’
‘Nonsense, Rose! We don’t believe in ghosts!’ said Ida.
‘It was not like a ghost,’ said Rose. ‘You know I had come down for the bank-holiday, and went back to finish my quarter at the art embroidery. Well, when we stopped at the North Westhaven station, I saw a man, woman, and child get p. 233in, and it struck me that the boy was Master Michael and the woman Louisa Hall. I think she looked into the carriage where I was, and I was going to ask her where she was taking him.’
‘Nonsense, Rose! How can you listen to such folly, Herbert?’
‘But that’s not all! I saw them again under the gas when I got out. I was very near trying to speak to her, but I lost sight of her in the throng; but I saw that face so like Master Michael, only scared and just ready to cry.’
‘You’ll run about telling that fine ghost-story,’ said Ida roughly.
‘But Louisa could not have been a ghost,’ said Rose, bewildered. ‘I thought she was his nursery-maid taking him somewhere! Didn’t she—’ then with a sudden flash—‘Oh!’
‘Turned off long ago for flirting with that scamp Rattler,’ said Herbert. ‘Now she has run off with him.’
‘There was a sailor-looking man with her,’ said Rose.
‘I never heard such intolerable nonsense!’ burst out Ida. ‘Mere absurdity!’
Herbert looked at her with surprise at the strange passion she exhibited. He asked—
‘Did you say the Hall girl had run away?’
‘Oh, never mind, Herbert!’ cried Ida, as if unable to command herself. ‘What is it to you what a nasty, horrid girl like that does?’
‘Hold your tongue, Ida!’ he said resolutely. ‘If you won’t speak, let Rose.’
‘She did,’ said Rose, in a low, anxious, terrified p. 234voice. ‘I only heard it since I came home. She was married at the registrar’s office to that man Jones, whom they call the Rattler, and went off with him. It must have been her whom I saw, really and truly; and, oh, Herbert, could she have been so wicked as to steal Master Michael!’
‘Somebody else has been wicked then,’ said Herbert, laying hold of his sister’s arm.
‘I don’t know what all this means,’ exclaimed Ida, in great agitation; ‘nor what you and Rose are at! Making up such horrible, abominable insinuations against me, your poor sister! But Rose Rollstone always hated me!’
‘She does not know what she is saying,’ sighed Rose; and, with much delicacy, she moved away.
‘Let me go, Herbert!’ cried Ida, as she felt his grip on her hand.
‘Not I, Ida—till you have answered me! Is this so—that Michael is not drowned, but carried off by that woman?’ demanded Herbert, holding her fast and looking at her with manly gravity, not devoid of horror.
‘He is a horrid little impostor, palmed off to keep you out of the title and everything! That’s why I did it!’ sobbed Ida, trying to wrench herself away.
‘Oh, you did it, did you? You confess that! And what have you done with him?’
‘I tell you he is no Morton at all—just the nurse-woman’s child, taken to spite you. I found it all out at—what’s its name?—Botzen; only ma would not be convinced.’
‘I should suppose not! To think that my p. 235uncle and aunt would do such a thing—why, I don’t know whether it is not worse than stealing the child!’
‘Herbert! Herbert! do you want to bring your sister to jail, talking in that way?’
‘It is no more than you deserve. I would bring you there if it is the only way to get back the child! I do not know what is bad enough for you. My poor uncle and aunt! To have brought such misery on them!’ He clenched his hands as he spoke.
‘Everybody said she didn’t mind—didn’t ask questions, didn’t cry, didn’t go on a bit like his real mother.’
‘She could not, or it might have been the death of my uncle. Bertha wrote it all to me; but you—you would never understand. Ida, I can’t believe that you, my sister, could have done such an awfully wicked thing!’
‘I wouldn’t, only I was sure he was not—’
‘No more of that stuff!’ said Herbert. ‘You don’t know what they are.’
‘I do. So strict—not a bit like a mother.’
‘If our mother had been like them, you might not have been such a senseless monster,’ said Herbert, pausing for a word. ‘Come, now; tell me what you have done with him, or I shall have to set on the
police.’
‘Oh, Herbert, how can you be so cruel?’
‘It is not I that am cruel! Come, speak out! Did you bribe her with your teapot? Ah! I see: what has she done with him?’
He gripped her arm almost as he used to torture p. 236her when they were children, and insisted again that either she must tell him the whole truth or he should set the police on the track.
‘You wouldn’t,’ she said, awed. ‘Think of the exposure and of mother!’
‘I can think of nothing but saving Mite! I say—my mother knows nothing of this?’
‘Oh no, no!’
Herbert breathed more freely, but he was firm, and seemed suddenly to have grown out of boyishness into manly determination, and gradually he extracted the whole story from her. He would not listen to the delusion in which she had worked herself into believing, founded upon the negations for which she had sedulously avoided seeking positive refutation, and which had been bolstered up by her imagination and wishes, working on the unsubstantial precedents of novels. She had brought herself absolutely to believe in the imposture, and at a moment when her uncle’s condition seemed absolutely to place within her grasp the coronet for Herbert, with all possibilities for herself.
Then came the idea of Louisa Hall, inspired by seeing her speak to little Michael on the beach, and obtain his pretty smiles and exclamation of ‘Lou, Lou! mine Lou!’ for he had certainly liked this girl better than Ellen, who was wanting in life and animation. Ida knew that Sam Jones, alias Rattler, was going out to join his brother in Canada, and that Louisa was vehemently desirous to accompany him, but had failed to satisfy the requirements of Government as to character, so as to obtain a free passage, and was therefore about to be left behind p. 237in desertion and distress. She might beguile Michael away quietly and carry him to Canada, where, as it seemed, there were any amount of farmers ready to adopt English children—a much better lot, in Ida’s eyes, than the little Tyrolese impostor deserved. She even persuaded herself that she was doing an act of great goodness, when, at the price of her teapot, she obtained that Louisa should be married by the registrar to Sam Jones, and their passage paid, on condition of their carrying away Michael with them. The man was nothing loth, having really a certain preference for Louisa, and likewise a grudge against Lord Northmoor for having spoilt that game with Miss Morton, which might have brought the means for the voyage.
They were married on Whit Monday, and Ida was warned that if she and Louisa could not get possession of the child by Wednesday, he would be left behind. Louisa was accordingly on the watch, and Ida hovered about, just enough completely to put the nurses off their guard. They heard Michael’s imploring call of ‘Willie! Willie!’ and then Louisa descended on him with coaxings and promises, and Ida knew no more, except that, as she had desired, a parcel had been sent her containing the hat and shoes. The spade she had herself picked up.
When Rose had seen them, they had no doubt been on their way to Liverpool.
It seemed to be Herbert’s horror-stricken look that first showed his sister the enormity of what she had done, and when she pleaded ‘for your sake,’ he made such a fierce sound of disgust, that she only durst add further, ‘Oh, Herbert, you will not tell?’
p. 238‘Not find him?’ he thundered.
‘No, no; I didn’t mean that! But don’t let them know about me! Just think—’
‘I must think! Get away now; I can’t bear you near!’
And just then a voice was heard, ‘Miss Hider, Miss Hider, your ma wants you!’
p. 239CHAPTER XXXV
THE QUEST
Herbert had made no promises, but as he paced up and down the shingle after his sister had gone in, he had time to feel that, though he was determined to act at once, the scandal of her deed must be as much as possible avoided. Indeed, he believed that she might have rendered herself amenable to prosecution for kidnapping the child, and he felt on reflection that his mother must be spared the terror and disgrace. His difficulties were much increased by the state of quarantine at Northmoor, for though the journey to Malvern had been decided upon, neither patient was yet in a state to attempt it, and as one of the servants had unexpectedly sickened with the disease, all approach to the place was forbidden; nor did he know with any certainty how far his uncle’s recovery had advanced, since Bertha, his chief informant, had gone abroad with Mrs. Bury, and Constance was still at Oxford.
He went home, and straight up to his room, feeling it intolerable to meet his sister; and there, the first sleepless night he had ever known, convinced p. 240him that to the convalescents it would be cruelty to send his intelligence, when it amounted to no more than that their poor little boy had been made over to an unscrupulous woman and a violent, good-for-nothing man.
‘No,’ said Herbert, as he tossed over; ‘it would be worse than believing him quietly dead, now they have settled down to that. I must get him back before they know anything about it. But how? I must hunt up those wretches’ people here, and find where they are gone; if they know—as like as not they won’t. But I’ll throw everything up till I find the boy!’ He knelt up in his bed, laid his hand on his Bible—his uncle’s gift—and solemnly swore it.
And Herbert was another youth from that hour.
When he had brought his ideas into some little order, the foremost was that he must see Rose Rollstone, discover how much she knew or guessed, and bind her to silence. ‘No fear of her, jolly little thing!’ said he to himself; but, playfellows as they had been, private interviews were not easy to secure under present circumstances.
However, the tinkling of the bell of the iron church suggested an idea. ‘She is just the little saint of a thing to be always off to church at unearthly hours. I’ll catch her there—if only that black coat isn’t always after her!’
So Herbert hurried off to the iron building, satisfied himself with a peep that Rose’s sailor hat was there, and then—to make sure of her—crept into a seat by the door, and found his plans none the worse for praying for all needing help in mind, body, or estate. Rose came out alone, and he was p. 241by her side at once. ‘I say, Rose, you did not speak about that last night?’
‘Oh no, indeed!’
‘You’re a brick! I got it all out of that sister of mine. I’m only ashamed that she is my sister!’
‘And where is the dear little boy?’
‘That’s the point,’ and Herbert briefly explained his difficulties, and Rose agreed that he must try to learn where the emigrants had gone, from their relations. And when he expressed his full intention of following them, even if he had to work his passage, before telling the parents, she applauded the nobleness of the resolution, and all the romance in her awoke at the notion of his bringing home the boy and setting him before his parents. She was ready to promise secrecy for the sake of preventing the prosecution that might, as Herbert saw, be a terrible thing for the whole family; and besides, it must be confessed, the two young things did rather enjoy the sharing of a secret. Herbert promised to meet her the next morning, and report his discoveries and plans, as in fact she was the only person with whom he could take counsel.
He did meet her accordingly, going first to the church. He had to tell her that he had been able to make nothing of Mrs. Hall. He was not sure whether she knew where her daughter had gone; at any rate, she would not own to any knowledge, being probably afraid. Besides, when acting as charwoman, Master Herbert had been such a torment to her that she was not likely to oblige him.
He had succeeded better with the Jones family, and perhaps had learnt prudence, for he had not p. 242begun by asking for the Rattler, but for the respectable brother who had invited him out, and had thus learnt that the destination of the emigrant was Toronto, where the elder brother was employed on the British Empress, Ontario steamer. Mrs. Jones, the mother, and her eldest son were decent people, and there was no reason to think they were aware of the encumbrances that their scapegrace had taken with him.
So Herbert had resolved, without d
elay, to make his way to Toronto; where he hoped to find the child, and maybe, bring him back in a month’s time.
‘Only,’ said Rose timidly, ‘did you really mean what you said about working your way out?’
‘Well, Rose, that’s the hitch. I had to pay up some bills after I got my allowance, and unluckily I changed my bicycle, and the rascals put a lot more on the new one, and I haven’t got above seven pounds left, and I must keep some for the rail from New York and for getting home, for I can’t take the kid home in the steerage. The bicycle’s worth something, and so is my watch, if I put them in pawn; so I think I can do it that way, and I’m quite seaman enough to get employment, only I don’t want to lose time about it.’
‘I was thinking,’ said Rose shyly; ‘they made me put into the Post Office Savings Bank after I began to get a salary. I have five-and-twenty pounds there that I could get out in a couple of days, and I should be so glad to help to bring that dear little boy home.’
‘Oh, Rose, you are a girl! You see, you are p. 243quite safe not to lose it, for my uncle would be only too glad to pay it back, even if I came to grief any way, and it would make it all slick smooth. I would go to Liverpool straight off, and cross in the first steamer, and the thing’s done. And can you get at it at once with nobody knowing?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Rose. ‘My father asked to see my book when first I came home, and he is not likely to do so again, till I can explain all about it, and I am sure it cannot be wrong.’
‘Wrong—no! Right as a trivet! Rose, Rose, if ever that poor child sees his father and mother again, it is every bit your doing! No one can tell what I think of it, or what my uncle and aunt will say to you! You’ve been the angel in this, if Ida has been the other thing!’
But Rose found difficulties in the way of her angelic part, for her father addressed her in his most solemn and sententious manner: ‘Rose, I have always looked on you as sensible and discreet, but I have to say that I disapprove of your late promenades with a young man connected with the aristocracy.’
Rose coloured up a good deal, but cried out, ‘It’s not that, papa, not that!’
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