"You mad fool, Jean! you shall listen, and you shall hear all," cried
_ma mere_ furiously; "and I will torment you till you see that you are
_bete_. The little worker--the pink doll--is not for you; and you shall
not have her. But it was good sport, Jean--rare sport, Jean. That
sniff woman, poor fool! told me. He carried her down the stairs--
carried her down in his arms, of course, for he loves her; and let him
marry her if he will; who cares? for she is not for you. Do you hear,
_bete_? he carried her lovingly down in his arms."
Jean winced as he sat in his old place at the window, but pretended not
to hear, though from the working of his nostrils it was plain how
eagerly he drank in every word.
"No, Jean, she is not for you," cried the old woman. "I hate her, and
you shall not love her, but someone else; for she has always set you
against me. I know--I know all--all--all!" she exclaimed, muttering and
nodding her head; "he struck down the Jarker--big wretch; and then the
Jarker waited hour after hour, hour after hour, into the dark night, and
watched for him till he was talking to the painted woman, and struck him
down too; and then I saw more too, and I was not going to tell--O no--
though I think he killed her. But no, no, Jean, I would not tell, for I
have my plans; and pah! there are plenty more painted women. But no,
no, Jean, you shall not have the pink doll. You must love me, Jean,
till I tell you to marry."
The young man writhed in his chair, but he spoke no word; while his
mother knitted furiously, clicking her needles and smiling maliciously
as she watched him sideways.
"No, no, Jean, you shall not have the pink doll; and you cannot see her
now--they are gone."
"But she will come," cried Jean angrily, with something of his mother's
spirit bursting forth.
"No, no!" half-shrieked his mother; "she shall not--I will not have her.
But no, she will not come, you _bete_, for the preacher is ill with the
Jarker's blow, and she nurses him and smoothes his pillow. Fool!" she
cried in a sharp, cracked voice, "I will torment you to death if you
tear not the hateful little thing from your foolish heart. You shall
only love me till I tell you. But now listen: it is dark now, and I
have my plans. The Jarker is away, and the police hunt him. Now
listen, fool, while I tell you. They may take him, but I hope not yet;
for you shall be rich, Jean--you shall have money and all that the great
people have, and plenty of fine dolls shall be proud to have you, Jean;
for I am proud of you; and what was she? Bah! nothing. I know the
Jarker's secret--I know it two years; but he does not think it, for I
have been still and waited two years, Jean--more. He suspect me once,
but he dare not touch me, and I have given him no chance since. And
should I tell till it was time? No, no!"
_Ma mere_ leaned over towards her son, and casting down her knitting in
her eagerness, one of the dogs ran to pick it up, but she struck the
poor thing angrily with Jean's crutch, and it ran yelping back to its
corner. And now she whispered long and eagerly in the young man's ear,
till his cheek flushed and eyes sparkled, for he was coupling all he
heard with the name of Lucy Grey.
"Gold and silver--much silver and rich things, Jean," hissed _ma mere_.
"But have you seen them?" cried Jean eagerly.
"Bah! no; but what then? Why was he out night after night? To catch
birds? Bah! no, but to pluck birds of their fine feathers, gay
feathers, rich feathers, and he has a store, I know it."
"But he may come back," said Jean huskily.
"Do I not say the police hunt him? They have been here to seek him,"
hissed his mother; "and when I have taken his honey I will show his
empty nest, and they will send him to the galleys. Yes, yes. But come,
fool. There," she said, kissing him, "thy _mere_ loves thee, Jean. No,
no, lean on me; you must leave the crutch, it is noisy. No, no, he dare
not come back here to be taken."
_Ma mere_ placed a piece of candle in her pocket, along with a box of
matches. She then led Jean to a chair by the door, left him seated, and
went softly back to the window, which she opened, and then gazed down
into the court and anxiously at the windows where there were lights.
Then once more closing the window, she returned to her son, opened the
door, and listened. But there were voices on the stairs, so thrusting
Jean back, she leaned over the balusters to try and hear who waited
below, but without avail, so she returned to the room.
"But we will be rich, Jean--rich," she whispered, "and there shall be no
more of this pinching for bread. You shall not have poor workers but
ladies glad to see you smile, _mon fils_" and the old woman cast her
lean arms round the cripple's neck, kissing him fondly, though he
remained thoughtful and impassive, apparently listening to the impatient
movements of some sleepless bird.
"But listen, Jean--it was very horrible; but I saw all, and I shall tell
some day when it is time. I saw the Jarker strike the preacher down,
for I had been watching too. I came back late, and saw the Jarker and
hid myself; because he is a savage, and I would not meet him by night
never since I knew his secret; but when I was hid, and he had struck
down the preacher, I saw him run this way to cross the road, but the
painted woman dash at him and hold him, fighting fiercely with him, till
I would have helped her--but I was old and weak, Jean. Then he struck
her down, Jean--such a coward, cruel blow--but she clung to his legs,
and he kicked her, so that I hear his boot upon her poor head, and I
felt sick, Jean, but I dare not speak; and as he came closer I shrunk in
the doorway and watched, for he ran into the court; but the painted
woman was up, and ran again, and caught hold of him, and held on, and I
could hear her say just inside the court there, `Give me my child, give
me my child!' and he struck her down again. But once more she held to
his legs gasping, and saying, `My child, give me my child!' and in her
fierce, angry way she seemed to crawl and wind up him like a serpent,
while--ah, Jean, I am old and coward, and I shivered and trembled to see
it all. There was no noise, only the fierce whisper, `Give me my
child!' and the struggling, and I saw him strike at her again and again
in the face, while she held her poor head down in his breast that he
should not hit her; till at last they fell, and I heard her poor head
strike the stones, and I sink down on the passage-floor, Jean, for I
could not bear it, and I don't know how long for, but when I look out
again there was nothing in the court--nothing but the miserable light--
and I dare not go out and see, Jean, for I was frightened. I think
perhaps he killed her, poor painted woman, and I am sorry, for she loved
her child as I love you, Jean, and would die for you; but stop, and then
the police shall know, and they will take him--but not yet. Poor
painted woman! I have not seen her since, and the preacher has her
child. And it is not ungrateful like you, Jean. Ah! do I not cry long
hours for you, and you do not mind, for you think always of the doll,
and I hate her. She coaxed you from me with her soft white skin and her
cat's ways. She is deceitful, and tries to make the preacher marry her;
but he shall not yet, for I will tell him something that shall frighten
him. But there, bah! let him marry her, and take, too, her old imbecile
of a father and the weak, crying mother--let him marry them all. But
you--you shall be rich, Jean, and keep no more birds. You shall have
doctors, and get rid of your crutch, and people will be proud to know
you."
But Jean spoke not; only sat listening to his mother's words as he built
up some bright future and thought of Lucy Grey.
At last _ma mere_ rose again from the seat she had taken, and went to
the head of the staircase; but still there were voices to be heard, and
this time, without coming back, she sat down with her pinched cheek
leaning against the balusters, where she remained patiently listening
for quite an hour, when she softly rose and whispered to Jean as she
supported him; and then slowly and painfully the strange couple made
their way down to the passage, where, after waiting for a few minutes,
they crossed the empty court and stood in the dark entry of the opposite
house.
Late as it was--nearly twelve--the door stood open; but even if the old
woman's catlike step and the slow painful shuffle of her son had been
heard, they would have excited no attention, as stealthily she helped
Jean along, until they stood at the head of the cellar-steps.
"Ah!" hissed _ma mere_ as she kicked against something soft, "but it is
that Bijou who has followed us.--Back, then!" she hissed, striking at
the dumb brute, whose soft patter was now heard along the dark passage
as the animal scuffled away. "Now, mind," whispered _ma mere_ as they
descended slowly, while once Jean slipped and nearly dragged the old
woman headlong to the bottom; but he saved himself by grasping the rough
railing, and after recovering his panting breath another trial was made,
and they stood at the bottom, when, feeling her way along, _ma mere_ led
him till, still in the dark, they stood in the front cellar, where the
water dripped hollowly into the tub. But the woman well knew her way;
and, with one arm round her son, she helped him along to the arch,
warned him of the step down, and so drew him into the back-cellar and
along to the end, where she left him leaning against one of the bins
while she stole softly back to the cellar-steps to listen for awhile
before returning to strike a match and light her piece of candle, which
she screened by holding it far into the bin.
"No, Jean," she muttered, "he dare not come back, for there is a police
always on the watch for him, though I have not told. But, hush! don't
speak," she whispered, as a heavy step was heard to pass along the
court; and all the while the light shone strangely upon her sharp
withered features and the sallow face and wild eyes of Jean. "Hold this
now," she said softly, and once more she went nimbly back to the
cellar-door to listen, when, closing it gently, she hurried to the side
of her trembling son. "You fool!" she muttered sneeringly, "you shake,
and there is nothing to fear. Now hold the candle low, and shade it
with your coat;" and then, going down upon hands and knees, she crawled
into the bin before her--one that was deep and narrow; and, panting and
sighing with the exertion, she scraped away a little of the blackened
sawdust, and thrust her hands beneath what appeared to be the brick end
of the bin, lifted it a little and then thrust sideways, when the whole
back slowly slid along, disclosing an opening which the whitewashed
stone had before covered.
A little more hard thrusting and Jean could see that there was
apparently room to pass into what appeared to be another cellar, while a
cold, damp, foul-smelling vapour rushed through, and nearly extinguished
the candle.
"Come, quick, Jean," panted _ma mere_, making her way through the
opening, when Jean crawled into the bin and handed her the guttering
candle before following her through the hole, against which he kneeled
hesitating; but directly after he crept through and stood beside his
mother in a little cellar surrounded by bins similar to those in the one
they had left; then, having stuck the candle amongst the loose damp
sawdust, _ma mere_ drew the stone flag back into its place, for it ran
in a rough brick groove at the bottom, while at the top it was kept from
falling by a large iron bar roughly laid in a couple of staples.
"Now look, now look," hissed _ma mere_, taking the candle in her hands
and peering about; "wine, old wine in bottles, put here and forgotten;
and what is this?--my faith, it is a melting-pot;" and she paused
curiously by a large black-lead crucible, fitted upon a rough brick
furnace, whose chimney was a piece of iron piping, carried up apparently
into one of the house flues. By its side in an old box was a quantity
of charcoal; and in another several pounds of saltpetre, evidently used
to augment the fierceness of the fire, while by the side lay a pair of
bellows--instruments which had before now caused angry words to issue
from Mr Jarker's lips. "Now look, Jean; but what ails you, fool? Look
at the boxes; there, that is where the rich things are;" and her lean
fingers clutched and clawed and opened and shut as she held a hand out
towards a rough chest.
Jean was gazing with astonished eyes around him at the gloomy place; at
the bins half full of empty bottles; at a couple of boxes that lay in
one; but, as his mother spoke, he was leaning towards one corner of the
cellar where there seemed to be an opening, which was lightly covered
with an old box-lid.
"What is that?" he whispered.
"What? fool!" exclaimed _ma mere_, going to the lid and lifting it; when
the foul wind rushed up, and once more nearly extinguished her candle.
"Pah!" she ejaculated; "a way down into the drains, and O, my faith,
Jean, but it is the rat's hole; but," she chuckled, "he dare not come,
the ferrets and dogs are after him, and he will soon feel their teeth.
So, my faith! he had two holes."
As she spoke she hastily closed the place once more, listening the while
to a musical trickling noise which came whispering up; but, led by some
strange impulse, Jean went down upon his knees by the hole, and lifted
the lid again, peering down into the black darkness, and listening to
the hollow echoing noise, while from apparently a distance came a
rushing sound as of a stream through a large sewer, and the young man
shuddered as he listened to its strange wild cadence.
"Come here, fool!" hissed _ma mere_; "come, hold the candle;" and broken
glass crackled beneath her feet as she crossed the cellar towards a box
in one of the bins. "Come, Jean, here are the treasures, boy; but O,
look here! It is what I thought: here is the painted woman's veil;" and
she picked up a small net fall, that had evidently from its torn
appearance been snatched hastily from a bonnet. "He must have dragged
her down here, Jean; and then--there is that hole!"
Mother and son stayed gazing at one another with dilated eyes and parted
lips, till, dropping the lid, Jean crawled shuddering away, as an
echoing sound came up caused by the falling cover. Mother and son
seemed fascinated for a few moments, as they pictured in their own minds
the scene that might have taken place in the damp cavernous place where
they stood; and then, forgetful of her main object, _ma mere_ crept
closer to her son.
"But it is very horrible!" she murmured; and as she spoke she wiped her
forehead with the scrap of lace in her hand, but only to throw it down
with a shudder the next moment.
"Do you think he killed her, then?" whispered Jean in a harsh dry voice.
"Hush! don't speak, don't talk of it," hissed the old woman, who seemed
quite unnerved, and trembled violently.
"But where do the drains go to?" whispered Jean.
"Into the big river," said _ma mere_; "but come quick, there are the
boxes, Jean, and let us get away from here. I hardly breathe. But O,
my faith, look there!"
Jean Marais gave a cry of horror as he clutched his mother's gown; and
then they remained silent for a few moments.
The candle had burned out!
Volume Three, Chapter XIII.