The public might have been present in force, but they were not; for
inquests upon bodies found in Thames' stream are common events, such as
find their way into corners of the morning papers in the shape of short
paragraphs. And in this instance there was a very seedy-looking staff
to represent the Press--namely, a man who winked solemnly at old Matt as
he passed him on his way to a side-table beside the jury. The necessary
witnesses were there apparently, and the inquest dragged on its slow
length as they told all they knew. But Matthew Space must be quoted as
an exception; he did not tell all, only that he knew the poor woman by
sight, while he rightly said that he was ignorant of her name and home.
It would be time, he thought, to tell all when there was no more danger
of publicity, and so he allowed himself to be huffed by the coroner for
taking up his valuable time.
But now came forward a pale, well-dressed, weeping girl, who stated that
her name was Eleanor.
"Eleanor what?" said the coroner, frowning very severely, and oozing all
over his very high, bald forehead with the quintessence of morality; for
the poor girl shivered before him, and looked appealingly from face to
face of the jurymen. "Eleanor what?" said the coroner again, with quite
a snap.
"Anderson," said the girl sobbing; and then for a few minutes she could
not proceed to tell her tale; how that for a year past she had always
tried to see those girls who were taken out of the river. She hardly
knew why, only that she had known some of them, as she knew poor Marian;
and there seemed something which drew her towards the river. She met
the policemen, and they let her go with them, for she was looking for
Marian, and somehow she was not surprised to find her there.
Had known her a long time--years, she thought--and they lodged together.
She had often said that she was tired of life, but never talked about
her friends, or anything of the past: thought she came from the country.
Had not seen her before for days, and had been uneasy, and fancied she
had gone over the bridge, as many did--could not tell why, unless
because she was tired of her life, and had the feeling of being drawn to
do it. Her name was Marian--that was what she was called--but thought
it was not her real name; did not know why; but many girls like her gave
themselves fresh names. She gave witness a little Bible once, with
passages marked in it, but there was no name in it. Never spoke of
anyone else, or of herself, but was always very kind, and had nursed
witness once through a bad fever, not long back, and never left her
night or day, when no one else dared come near; and now she was gone.
There was a pause here longer than those made while the coroner had
taken down the depositions, during which he had frowned very severely;
and now appeared greatly annoyed at the unbusiness-like sobbing of the
poor girl, who sat down again upon a form behind old Matt, who tried to
whisper a few words of comfort, as the jurymen mostly seemed very intent
upon the paper before them.
Then followed the doctor to tell of his horrible task, and express his
opinion respecting the marks of blows upon the face of deceased, such,
though, as might have been caused by striking against some part of the
bridge in falling; he was of opinion that she must have struck twice, as
there was a fracture upon the back of the skull; and she had evidently
been dead some days.
"Found dead."
And then there was a little quiet bustle, and scraping of chairs upon
the oilcloth, for the inquest was over; and old Matt and the weeping
girl were standing outside by some railings.
"Strange as we should meet again after talking as we did."
"Yes, yes," said the girl sadly; "but why didn't you say you knew her
when I spoke to you?"
"Didn't know her by that name," said Matt; "and I had only seen her a
few times, hardly to speak to. But about that Bible?"
"Well!" said the girl sadly.
"Have you got it now?"
"Yes," she said; and then she turned, for a hand was laid upon her arm,
and one of the jurymen led her on a few steps talking long and
earnestly, till after repeating something aloud two or three times he
walked away; and Matt and the girl, two of the waifs of London streets,
went slowly on, not noticing that they were watched.
"Poor, poor Marian!" sobbed the girl, stopping by a doorway. "Told me
to read the words she had marked in the Bible, and then to go and do
that!"
"Well, well, well," said the old man, "let's hope she has gone to a
better world; and now, my lass, where are you going?"
"Back to my lodging," said the girl wearily.
"That gentleman told you to call somewhere, didn't he?" said Matt.
"Ah, yes," said the girl abstractedly, "I think so."
"Now I don't believe you remember it," said Matt; "but I happened to
hear it, and I'll write it down. Now, look here;" and he brought out
his old, ragged memorandum-book and the lead-pencil stump; and then,
using the crown of his hat for a desk, he wrote down the address
carefully, tore out half a leaf, and gave it to the girl.
"There, my lass," he said, "take my advice, and go there; and now I want
you to let me have that Bible."
"What for?" and the girl looked wonderingly at him.
"It's a whim of mine, that's all," said Matt. "But you'll--"
He paused, for a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and turning round he
stood face to face with the juryman who had spoken to the girl.
"What paper was that you gave to the girl?" he said roughly.
"The one you ought to have given," said Matt, resenting the question,
and the tone of voice in which it was asked.
"What do you mean?" said the stranger.
Old Matt was weak and ill, or he would have retorted angrily; but he
only said, "An address."
"What address?" said the juryman dubiously.
"Well, then, yours, if you must know," said Matt.
The juryman looked keenly at the old printer, who met his gaze without
flinching. "It was easy to remember," said the former.
"I know that," said Matt, "but I thought she'd forget; and you seemed to
mean well by the poor lass. I watched you, sir, at the inquest."
"God knows I do, my man," said the juryman softly; "and I ask your
pardon for playing the spy; for I must confess to having had my doubts
of you."
"It's all right, sir; and we can cry quits," said Matt. "I had my
doubts, too; and was in two minds about writing down the address; but if
you can do anything towards saving the country the cost of another
inquest, for God's sake do. No, thank you, sir; I don't want your
money. I don't like taking it where I haven't earned it. It's a weak
point of mine, and has stood in the way of my comfort more than once:
and I'm old now, sir, and can't break myself of bad habits. Good-day,
sir."
The juryman smiled as they parted, and old Matt hurried off talking to
himself; for the girl had disappeared while he had been detained.
"I want to see that Bible," he muttered, "and he's hindered me
dreadfully. But, yes; no; yes; that's her; there she is," and he
shuffled on after a slight figure he saw crossing the road, some
distance down the street. "Hang the folks, how they do get in your way
when you're in a hurry," he growled. "Now, stoopid, which way is it to
be?" And then he hurried and panted along to overtake the retreating
figure, which had again disappeared. Dodging amongst the vehicles he
encountered, he crossed the road, pressing on, with everyone he met
apparently resenting his hurry, till passing a turning, he looked down,
to see the figure he had followed nearly at the bottom.
"Gets over the ground well," muttered the old man, wiping his forehead;
"but I'm safe of her now. Must have that Bible; there may be some clue
there, and I want to have this matter cleared up; but how can I tell
Miss Lucy?"
The old man reached the bottom of the street, and stood within twenty
yards of the figure he sought to overtake, when hurrying on he caught up
to her, saying--
"My lass, you'll let me have that book, won't you?"
The figure turned sharply round, as Matt touched her shoulder lightly;
but the face was strange, and, taken aback and confounded, the old man
made a rough apology, and stood panting as he clung to the railings of a
house hard by.
Volume Three, Chapter XI.