The following day a sensation was created in Rosemary Lane by the
circumstance of Seth Dumbrick's stall being closed, and by a written
notice pasted outside, to the effect that he might be expected to
return in the course of two or three weeks.
"From the day as Seth Dumbrick give that party to the children,"
said Mrs. Preedy, holding forth in front of the cellar to a knot of
eager listeners, "down in that cellar"--with finger ominously
pointing--"from that day I begun to suspect him, and to feel sure as
there was something wrong I says to him on that very day, Strange
things is often done down in cellars,' says I; and then I told him
that I wouldn't let my Jane go to his party unless I were invited, no,
not if he filled my apron with diamings. 'Perhaps,' says I, with mind
full of misbegivings, 'perhaps you've got ghosts and skiletons down in
your cellar, Mr. Dumbrick;' and as true as I'm a living woman, he says
to me upon that, 'My cellar _is_ full of ghosts, Mrs. Preedy,' says
he; 'my cellar _is_ full of ghosts,' he says."
This narrative imparted a more intense interest to the position of
affairs, and imagination ran riot on the contents of the cellar,
which became gradually filled with the bones and limbs of murdered
persons--Seth Dumbrick's victims, who had been artfully decoyed down
the steps and made away with.
"And it shows the wickedness of mankind," said one woman, especially
disposed to the horrible, "to think of the way he's kept it secret all
this time."
Other imaginative phases relating to Sally and the Duchess, who were
pictured as being either murdered or chained to the wall and left to
starve, soon became popular; and ears were pressed to the shutters to
catch the groans of the children.
"I can hear something!" cried Mrs. Preedy; which instantly caused the
knot of women to declare that, for humanity's sake, the cellar should
be broken into and the children rescued. Whether they would have
proceeded to this extremity is not certain, and perhaps it was
fortunate that the form of Dr. Lyon was at that moment seen
approaching them.
"O doctor! O doctor!" cried Mrs. Preedy; and stood before him,
pressing her sides, and gasping for breath in her agitation.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Preedy?" asked the doctor. "Spasms?"
"No, sir; oh! no, sir," she replied, still palpitating. "The children!
the children!"
"What children?"
"Our beautiful Duchess, sir, and Sally, that we're all so fond on!"
"Well?"
"Down there, sir! Murdered! I heard a groan jest as you come up."
"Which proves," said the doctor, realising the position of affairs,
"that they can't be murdered. Mrs. Preedy, do you read your Bible?"
"I hope so, sir, I'm sure," answered Mrs. Preedy in a tone of virtuous
injury.
"I hope so too. Do you forget what it says? 'Do unto others as you
would others should do unto you.' Seth Dumbrick has gone into the
country with the children, for the sake of the Duchess, who needs
fresh air to bring her back to health. And here's the key of his
place, which he left with me early this morning. Let me give you a
piece of advice, Mrs. Preedy."
"I shall be very grateful, sir, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Preedy,
trembling, not knowing what trouble she might have brought upon
herself.
"Go home, then," said the doctor in a grave tone, "and for the future
attend more to your own affairs and less to other people's. In plainer
words, mind your own business."
"Well, I'm sure!" gasped Mrs. Preedy, as Dr. Lyon stalked away. But
she obtained no sympathy from her neighbours, who were only too ready
to lay the blame on some one, and who, with justice--for she was the
most zealous scandalmonger in Rosemary Lane--laid it upon Mrs.
Preedy's shoulders. So that for once the right scapegoat suffered.
Mrs. Preedy went home in an oppressed state of mind, a sadder if not a
wiser woman; and the neighbours generally, to show how guiltless they
were, became enthusiastic in their praises of Seth Dumbrick; though it
must be confessed they bore him in their hearts a little grudge for
having disappointed them of a grand and awful sensation.
In the meantime, unconscious of the excitement he had created, Seth
Dumbrick, with the Duchess and Sally by his side, was sitting on the
top of an empty wagon returning to the country, with the driver of
which he had bargained for the ride.
It was a fine day, and the delight of the children was unbounded. The
fresh air, the clear atmosphere, the dreamy clouds, the beautiful
fields, were revelations to them. Occasionally they passed an estate,
stone-walled from vulgar eyes, over which, being seated at such an
elevation, they could see into the carefully-tended gardens and
orchards; and more frequently they passed the prettiest of gardens
belonging to humbler folk, the colour and beauty of which were as
lovely and charming as Nature could produce, to gladden heart and eye.
The driver of the wagon was in no hurry; he had some sixty miles to
go, and he worked for no hard taskmaster; he was an old man, and
merciful to his cattle, having a love for them, as could easily be
seen--all of which circumstances were as precious as gold to the
holiday-seekers, for it gave them leisure to see and enjoy. The wagon
was a new wagon, of which Seth made joyous capital, saying it had been
built especially for them to ride in on this brightest of all bright
days. Overhearing the remark, the driver said that that was a likely
thing, too, for things happened pretty much as they were ordained to
happen--leastways, that was his experience; and said it as though he
had high authority for the doctrine. The bells on the harness supplied
the music, varying most delightfully according to the pace; for, to
please the children, the old driver occasionally smartened the horses
into a trot, which they appeared to enjoy as much as they enjoyed the
leisurely amble with which they traversed the greater part of the
road. He was a kindly old fellow, with a face like a ribstone pippin,
and with hands as hard and brown as knotted oak--hands which could be
soft and gentle, also, and were, when he pinched the cheek of the
Duchess. She, always susceptible to fondling and caressing, looked
into the old man's face and smiled, so winsomely as to make him
pensive.
"Yours?" he inquired of Seth Dumbrick.
"No," replied Seth, in a low tone, so that the children should not
hear; "not exactly. I've adopted her. An orphan."
"Ah!" said the driver; "then _she's_ yours;" glancing at Sally.
"No, I've no children of my own."
"Never been married?"
"No. _You're_ a family man, I can see."
"Thirteen of 'em;" adding, in response to the look of astonishment on
Seth's face, "Not too many, not one too many."
"Are they all at home?" asked Seth.
"No; they're here and there;" with a wave of his hands cloudwards,
sufficiently comprehensive to denote that his brood were scattered
over the face of the earth. "We're a travelling family, you see. I've
been a wagoner ever since I was a lad. My youngsters took after me,
and travelled further--two to America, one to China, one to Australia;
and another"--this with a wistful look into the clouds, yearningly
eager to fix the spot--"God knows where. But," he added, with a
brighter air, "they're all doing well, most of 'em. I've no occasion
to work, but I couldn't live without a whip. I'd like to die with one
in my hand. Then, I love the English roads. You're fond of 'em, too, I
can see."
"They are very beautiful," said Seth, "to us especially, who see but
little of 'em. I haven't been out of London for fifteen years. And
this little girl"--with a kindly pressure of Sally's arm--"has never
in her life seen the country till now."
Sally's eyes sparkled a rapturous confirmation. This holiday was,
indeed, a revelation to her soul; she saw beauty of which she had
hitherto had no knowledge or comprehension; and as she sat on the
wagon, with one arm fondly caressing the Duchess, whose head was lying
on her bosom, she wished that she and those she loved could go jogging
along in this way for ever and ever.