AN EAVESDROPPER.
I SOON found out to whom I owed my preferment, and felt deeply grateful
to my good friend the station-master.
I sent a letter of thanks to Mr. Burford, senior, who lived too far
from Oakhill to allow of my calling upon him at once.
When I went to Mr. Randal Burford's office, he grasped my hand with all
his old heartiness, and his kind face promptly reflected the gladness
that was in mine.
But he soon stopped my thanks with the words, "Say no more, Jack. If
you only knew how delighted I was at having a chance to serve you, you
would understand that the balance of satisfaction is on my side. You
have won golden opinions already. Go on as you have begun, and may
God bless and prosper you! It is in accordance with His own teaching
that the servant who uses one talent well shall be entrusted with
more. I hope you will be found as faithful in a position of greater
responsibility, as you have already been in lesser matters."
Then my good friend spoke of his family with more freedom than he had
done for a long time past, and alluded to the probable extension of
Nelly's stay in Germany.
"The child is very happy there, and I do not think she is a bit the
worse in any way for her new experiences, whilst in many respects she
is greatly improved. But I want her back very badly. Home is not the
same without Nelly. I have to submit, however, for mothers seem to
claim the right to decide what shall be done with daughters. Rather
hard on a father where there are no boys, and his one privilege is to
pay the bills for the girls. I think the youngsters should be equally
divided when they are all of one sort; or if there is an odd number,
give the mother the advantage so far, for peace and quietness' sake."
Mr. Burford spoke in a jesting manner, but I was sure that he regretted
Nelly's absence from his heart, and that neither his wife nor his elder
daughter could fill her place, even if they strove to do so, which I
much doubted.
"I suppose you will have Nelly back for the summer holidays?" I said.
"You must miss her sadly."
"I am sorry to say I shall not have her at home for a year to come.
Mrs. Burford and Rose will start for the Continent to-morrow. They
are to meet Nelly at Cologne, and for six weeks to come they will be
vagabonds on the face of the earth. Rose has never yet left her native
country, so the three will travel about together till it is time for
Nelly to resume her studies. In the meanwhile our house is to undergo a
renovating process, at much cost to me of coin and comfort."
"Shall you stay at home all the time?" I asked.
"Not quite. I must see Nelly, and hope to get a fortnight or perhaps
three weeks' change, for I want it rather badly. When here, I shall
stay with my father, for my own house would be too uncomfortable with
workmen busy from cellar to garret."
"Will Miss Flint travel with Mrs. Burford and the young ladies?" said I.
Mr. Burford went off in a fit of hearty laughter, which for some
moments prevented any reply but a shake of the head.
"Excuse me, Jack," said he at length, "your question brought to my mind
so many domestic scenes in which Miss Flint was a prominent figure that
I could not help laughing. Nelly is very fond of your cousin, who has
been very good to her, but I do not think Mrs. Burford and Rose would
choose her as a travelling companion. They have too much regard for
externals to tolerate Miss Flint's 'get-up' when on a journey."
I smiled at this, then asked Mr. Burford if he thought Miss Flint was
really as hard as she tried to make people think.
"I have a notion that she puts on a good deal of the harshness of
speech and manner to hide a tenderness of which she is ashamed," I
added.
"I like to hear that from you, Jack, for certainly, she has lavished
no superfluous kindness on you. I have known her do some very generous
things, but they seemed to me rather the results of caprice than of any
higher principle," replied Mr. Burford.
"Do you think she sent me my piano?" inquired I.
"Certainly not; and I know absolutely nothing of the matter. Thus I
reply to a question visible in your looks, but which you hesitate to
put into words."
"I cannot imagine who sent it, then. I only know that I owe the kind
giver more than words can express. After all, I might have guessed it
could not be cousin Dorothy, because I believe she wished me to make
use of my mother's instrument at the Hall."
And I told Mr. Burford what Jane Cartwright had said about the care
taken of the piano.
"That seems likely enough, but the fact that Miss Flint acted in this
manner, renders it less probable that she had anything to do with the
bestowal of a new one."
I could not but agree to this.
Then, as it was time for me to return to my duties, I again thanked Mr.
Burford, and left him.
I had never taken a holiday of any length since my father's death. As
I should have less chance of doing so after Mr. Edelston's departure,
he advised me to obtain leave of absence at once, and to get a few days
at the seaside before my more serious work should begin. I was quite
inclined to act upon his suggestion, until I heard from Mr. Burford
that Nelly was not coming to England till the end of another twelve
months.
I had meant to see her, if possible—to see without being seen. Jane
Cartwright would have told me where the family were staying, and I
should have found some modest shelter in their neighbourhood, and
watched and waited for a sight of the dear face that was ever before
me, so far as memory was concerned. That face had always told the story
of a pure, kind, true heart, and of a faithful friendship that had
stood the fiery test of poverty and changed prospects. It told of a
nature unconscious of vanity, meanness, and littleness in every shape.
But memory had now to go back two years for a glimpse of the sweet
picture, and though Mr. Burford had cheered me greatly by saying that
Nelly was none the worse for her recent experiences, I had an intense
longing to judge for myself. I never meant to intrude upon her.
I told myself that I would never try to meet my girl-friend again
unless I could do so on fairly equal terms, with the full consent of
her father, and standing in something like my former social position.
I could not again be heir to Lint Hall and its acres, but though I had
lost these, I had kept my good name and character.
These were days in which men might fight their way upwards from the
ranks, and be none the less esteemed because they owed nothing to those
who were born before them.
I took no summer holiday, however. The desire for one vanished with the
hope of seeing Nelly.
Mr. Edelston went to his new post, and I stepped into his shoes,
finding as I stood therein abundant occupation, and in the successor to
the office of booking-clerk, an hourly trial of patience.
It was, perhaps, well for me that, in addition to doing my own work, I
had to instruct and correct the blunders of one of the most stupid lads
ever pushed into an utterly unsuitable place by sheer influence. When
this youth, Maurice Gibbs by name, was most trying, I strove to bear in
mind all Mr. Edelston's kindness to me when I went, a raw lad, to fill
the same situation, and imitated his example in dealing with my sub.
Happily, Gibbs was honest and grateful, and in return for my
painstaking, gave me the sort of admiring, devoted affection that a
faithful dog renders to his master. When he had been extra stupid, he
would say,—
"I'm an awful trouble to you, Mr. Simpson. I never was clever at
anything, but I do my best, and I do want to get to know, you know."
I could not doubt Gibbs' willingness to perform his duties, and in
consideration for this, and his straightforwardness, I warded off the
consequences of his blunders, by doing a great deal of his work in
addition to my own.
Mr. Pritchard, with his pretty bride, now occupied the station house,
and I, as before, went to and from the cottage daily. He was so glad
to have the house, through my giving up my right to it, that he lost
no chance of showing his goodwill. But for his presence at my station
during meal-times, I should have been almost wholly tied to the spot,
as I had no confidence in Gibbs, and could not have left him in sole
charge even during my dinner-hour. However, we worked most harmoniously
together, and I was also made welcome by Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard to
their fireside. They were quite a staid couple, having been ten years
engaged, and waiting until they could marry prudently. Both were
musical, and Mrs. Pritchard's playing and singing were above the
average of amateurs, so we had many pleasant evenings, both in their
home and at the cottage.
It was during the winter which followed my promotion, that a serious
trouble came upon me, and from an unexpected source.
Both Mr. Pritchard and I were in the habit of banking daily, whatever
railway money could be spared.
Still, there was always some which had to be left in the
booking-office, but it was locked up in the safe with the account-books.
By this time I had saved a considerable sum, and though I had deposited
part of it in Mr. Burford's hands, I was foolish enough to keep about
ten or fifteen pounds at the cottage. I never put my own money into the
office safe. From the very first, I had scrupulously avoided mixing
my cash with my employers', though I might well have been excused for
putting it in a place of safety, seeing that I had only my writing-desk
at the cottage.
The safe was pretty large, and divided into two compartments, one of
which was used by Mr. Pritchard for his books and cash, the other
by me. We had each a key for the outer door, but not for that which
enclosed the compartment used by the other.
One evening in midwinter, the Pritchards were going by the last train
to visit friends who lived a few miles away. He proposed returning in
the morning; his wife intended to remain two or three days away.
Before starting, he brought his books and cash as usual, and went
towards the safe, which was shut and locked.
"How stupid!" he exclaimed. "I have left the large key at home, but I
am not uneasy about that, as it is in a place where no one would think
of looking for it. Lend me yours, please, Simpson."
"Have you the key of your door?" I asked.
"Yes, here it is," he replied, holding up the much smaller one which
unlocked his compartment. "I will put in my things, fasten up my place,
and give you back the large key."
No doubt he meant to do so, but as he was pushing in his books the
train ran into the station, and I went to the platform, leaving Gibbs
at the window giving tickets.
I placed Mrs. Pritchard in a carriage, and pointed her out to her
husband, who jumped in beside her, and away went the train.
I returned to the booking-office, where Gibbs was, as usual, puzzling
over his ticket-money and hoping he had not given too much change.
I glanced towards the safe, and noticing that the outer door was shut,
I said to the lad, "Did Mr. Pritchard give you the key?"
"What key, sir?"
"The safe-key," I replied, and as I spoke, I pulled at the handle and
found that the door was locked.
"No, sir, he always puts the key in his pocket. I heard him slam the
door and lock it, just as he does other nights when his books are in."
"But it was my key he had. Surely he has not carried it off with him!"
I exclaimed in some dismay.
I looked about, but no key was there, and I came to the conclusion
that, in haste to catch the train, Pritchard had forgotten that he was
using my key, and had slipped it into his pocket, as he usually did his
own.
"Whatever shall we do with the books and the money?" asked Gibbs,
looking helplessly at me.
"The books must be put in the cupboard there. Fortunately, there is not
much money."
There was more than I counted on, for I had left out a bag with a good
deal of silver in it to meet the probable demand for change. It was
pay-night at some works in the neighbourhood, and men going to their
homes by train would, many of them, tender gold.
"There will be fifteen pounds, or more," said Gibbs.
"A good deal more," thought I, but I did not say so, for obvious
reasons.
At this moment, I noticed a figure outside the window, and the idea
crossed my mind, "Whoever is there will have heard what has passed, for
Gibbs has not closed the slide, though the ticket-giving is over for
to-night."
I was determined to see who was standing there, and I passed
noiselessly out, and noted a man leaning forward, with his head bent
towards the open slide, as if he had been listening. He was dressed in
a rough suit, and had on a pea-jacket of coarse serge, his get-up being
generally suggestive of a seafaring life.
I was always observant, and before I spoke to the man I noticed that
from his left hand, which was placed against the wall as a support
whilst he leaned forward, the second and third fingers were missing.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked quickly. "There are no more trains
to-night."
The man started round, and as he turned the light from a lamp fell
upon him and revealed a countenance which, once seen, I should find
it impossible to forget. It was a most unpleasant one, though not
absolutely bad, and rendered still more remarkable by a cruel scar
which extended across the cheek, and included the right side of the
nose and lip. Some terrible injury must have produced it, and the
portion of the face across which the scar ran was contracted, and the
lip drawn up a little, so as to show the teeth below.
The man's large whiskers and beard could do nothing towards hiding
the remarkable disfigurement caused by the scar, and at sight of it,
I thought to myself, were the owner of that face to commit a crime,
escape would be impossible.
In reply to my question the man said, "I wanted to ask you a question,
master, if there was any chance of my getting a job on the line? I am
out of work and getting hard up."
"I cannot give you work," I replied; "and if I could, there is no place
vacant."
"Not portering, or anything of that sort? I'm as strong as a castle."
"No, we have all the porters we require, both here and at the goods
station."
The man scarcely waited for me to finish these few words, but turned
and left the place with a muttered oath. At the same instant an old
resident in the neighbourhood came in by another door to inquire for a
parcel "left till called for."
Gibbs handed it to him, and then having finished what we had to do,
I made up the cash—above forty pounds, for I had some more in my
own possession besides that left with him—into as small a parcel as
possible, and placed it in my breast-pocket, buttoned my coat over it,
and prepared to go home.
I did not feel easy at having to walk alone with so much cash about me,
and should have been glad even of Gibbs' company, but he went in an
opposite direction. The night was very dark, and I was full of unwonted
fears and fancies, suggested by the memory of that stranger's evil face
and abrupt disappearance.
I have seldom felt more glad than I did at hearing the cheery voice of
our last caller at the station, who came out of one of the few houses I
had to pass on my way home.
"Is that you, Mr. John?" he said. "I have just been leaving the parcel
I brought from your place, at my daughter's. There were some toys and
things for her children in it. I am only sorry they are all asleep and
I cannot see how they will dance with joy over their treasures."
"Would they not keep until your next visit?" I asked.
"They would keep well enough, but I said to their mother, 'Let the
darlings have them. Never mind me. No good putting off pleasure where
little folks are concerned. Let them have it while they can.' I am glad
I called, for now you and I can walk so far together, Mr. John."
"I shall be very glad of your company, Mr. Metcalf," said I, thinking
to myself, "Now I am safe. The 'so far' leaves me at home, for my
friend's farm lies beyond the cottage."
We went along chatting pleasantly, the farmer delighting to tell me
about his children, married and single, all of whom I had known since
I could remember anything. He made allusion to the season's dainties,
told me I should most likely find a mince-pie or two waiting for me, as
there had been a pig-killing at his place, and he was sure his missus
was always proud to offer me a taste, &c., &c.
I knew the taste would mean a great basketful, for, as I have said
before, the old Lint Hall tenants never failed to evince their
goodwill in this fashion to "Mr. John," albeit he was now "Jack, the
disinherited."
I thanked the farmer warmly, sent a message of grateful acknowledgment
to Mrs. Metcalf. And, greatly relieved at having brought my cash safely
home, I parted with him at the garden-gate.