BARBARA HEARS STARTLING NEWS.
It was on the very day that Pelham was arrested on a charge of murder,
and Barbara, happy and unconscious, had gone to Exeter to buy presents
for the Christmas tree, that Mrs. Ives began her search for Piers.
Having had time to think during the night, she resolved not to begin by
going to Pelham Towers. The boy had no money, of that she was well
aware. It would be out of his power to walk the distance from Falmouth
to Great Pelham under several days, besides he would not know the way.
Beyond doubt, he was still in the immediate neighborhood. Mrs. Ives
would make inquiries in her own vicinity first.
“He’s such a pretty little dear that any one might kidnap him,” she said
to herself. “I hope to goodness there ain’t no gipsies about. I’ll go to
the different villages and make inquiries, and I’ll offer a reward. I’ll
write it out and I’ll put it up on my door the first thing in the
morning. I’ll spend a pound over Piers. It’s a deal of money, but I’ll
spend it.”
So, taking tremendous pains, the little woman wrote in large
characters:—
ONE POUND REWARD.
Wanted, a little boy, aged seven, named Piers. Complexion dark, with
rosy cheeks, eyes dark and shining like stars. Black hair, all curled.
A nobleman-in-disguise sort of appearance.
Having fashioned this description to her own mind, Mrs. Ives proceeded
to post it on the door of her house. She had printed it partly, in red
ink and partly in black. “Nobleman-in-disguise sort of appearance” was
all done in red ink. It was the kind of advertisement to attract
immediate attention. As soon as daylight came she began her round of the
village. She then went to the neighboring villages. Wherever she went
she made inquiries. Here and there she posted up her queer
advertisement. She was very weary and tired now, but still her courage
never flagged. She got no hint of the boy’s whereabouts from any one. No
one had seen or heard of him, but all the villagers were interested and
promised to look out. As far as they could tell, there were no gipsies
in the neighborhood. Mrs. Ives went home.
“I must do it. I must go off to Pelham Towers afore the last train goes
to night,” she said to herself. “But first I’ll just read this telegram
from poor Clary.”
The telegram was brief. It simply contained a request on the part of
Clara that Mrs. Ives would do nothing until she saw her.
Mrs. Ives once again dipped her pen in the ink and wrote a telegram to
Clara.
“Boy gone. Am off now to Pelham Towers to find him. Your mother.”
When she got to Falmouth Mrs. Ives sent off this message. She then took
a ticket to Haversham, and in course of time was put down at the little
wayside station. It was a long walk from there to the Towers, but when
her spirit was up the little woman was good for anything.
Accordingly she was once more trudging down the avenue when Barbara was
returning from Exeter. Barbara had had a successful day, and driving
back in the pretty pony carriage with her mother wrapped in furs by her
side, she was chatting and laughing gaily.
“I do declare,” she said, “there’s that funny little old woman again!”
“What little woman, dear?” said Mrs. Evershed.
“Her name is Ives. What can she want now?”
Barbara pulled up the ponies. She leant out of the carriage.
“Good evening, Mrs. Ives,” she said.
“Oh, good evening, my pretty young lady,” said Mrs. Ives, dropping her
accustomed curtsey. “I’m in a sore bit of trouble, and I’ve come back
here thinking perhaps you could help me.”
“If I can I will right heartily,” said Barbara. “But you look very
tired, and there is plenty of room in the carriage. Please get in.”
Mrs. Evershed made a gesture of disapproval, but Barbara could afford to
take no notice of her mother. Mrs. Ives interested her. She thought she
would like to show the little woman to Dick. Barbara’s heart was full of
Dick. She had not been parted from him for so long a time since their
marriage. She had a great deal to tell him.
“Step in. Take this seat,” said Barbara.
Mrs. Ives did so.
“I’m mighty obliged. I’m very footsore,” said the little woman.
Barbara whipped up the ponies and proceeded at a rapid pace down the
avenue. Mrs. Ives sat quite silent, staring full in the face of the
pretty young lady.
“I can deal her a blow, and, dear heart! I don’t like to do it,” she
said to herself. “But after all, what is riches? I ha’ tasted them at my
darter’s and they’re a grand mistake. It’s a sight better to live poor
and live plain. Yes, that’s what I say—live poor and live plain. Have
plain food and a plain bed and cleanliness round you, and you don’t want
for nothing. That’s the way to live and have a long life, and no
encouraging of stoutness.”
As these thoughts flew through Mrs. Ives’s active brain she glanced at
Mrs. Evershed, who was decidedly broad and fully developed. Mrs. Ives
did not like the grand lady, and did not trouble to look at her again.
They presently reached the house. Barbara helped her mother out of the
carriage and then turned to Mrs. Ives.
“Will you come into the hall?” she said. “This lady is my mother, and I
want to see to her comforts. If you will stay in the hall I will come
back to you presently.”
Mrs. Ives nodded.
Barbara conveyed Mrs. Evershed up-stairs.
“Why do you talk to that sort of person, Barbara? It’s not at all good
taste,” said Mrs. Evershed.
“Oh, mother, where does the bad taste come in? She’s such a little
character, quite an oddity, and I enjoy her,” said Barbara. “I wonder
where Dick is!”
A servant, who had been hovering about, now came forward with Dick’s
note.
“Sir Richard said you were to receive this immediately on your return,
my lady,” he remarked.
Barbara opened the note, read the contents, and her face turned white.
“What can be the matter?” she said aloud.
“Is anything wrong, dear?” asked Mrs. Evershed.
“No, nothing that I know of; but Dick had to go to town unexpectedly. He
says he’ll be back to-morrow. I wonder what can be the matter! He said
nothing at all about going to town when I was leaving this morning.”
“Sir Richard went away in a dog-cart with two strange men,” volunteered
the footman.
Barbara’s surprise and curiosity became still greater, but she would not
condescend to question the man.
“It’s all right,” she said in a would-be cheerful tone. “Let me take you
to your room, mother. I hope the fire is good.”
Mrs. Evershed thought nothing of Dick’s disappearance. On the contrary,
she was rather pleased than otherwise to have her daughter to herself
for the first evening.
“The house is wonderfully pretty, dear,” she said. “More than pretty,
quite handsome, but it really ought to be re-decorated. That splendid
old tapestry, for instance, is quite thrown away in its present
position. Now, you ought to go to——”
“I like things as they are,” interrupted Barbara.
“Of course, my dear child; but without in the least disturbing the old
ancestral appearance of the place you could accentuate the best points.
I know a man who will help you. His terms are enormous, but what can you
expect when he does so much for the money.”
“Well, mother, we will talk about that presently. Now, this is your
room. I hope you will find it comfortable.”
The apartment in question was a splendid one and very spacious.
Barbara’s maid was waiting to unpack Mrs. Evershed’s things.
“I will leave you now to the care of Marshall,” said the younger lady.
“Marshall, please bring tea to Mrs. Evershed in this room. We dine at
seven, mother.”
Barbara left the room. In the passage outside she stood still for a
minute. There was no one by. She slipped her hand into her pocket and
took out Dick’s note. It was written in pencil on a torn page of his
pocket-book. The few words were quickly read, but Barbara lingered long
over the “Darling” with which the note was begun. Suddenly raising it to
her lips she kissed the signature; then, tenderly folding it up, she put
it back in her pocket.
“I wish I knew what has really happened,” she said to herself. “He knew
nothing whatever about this business when I left him this morning. I
hope nothing is wrong.”
In her disappointment about her husband not being at home, she forgot
all about Mrs. Ives. When she returned to the hall the little woman was
still seated on one of the chairs.
“Oh, I am sorry I forgot all about you,” said Barbara. “Did you wish to
see me about anything?”
“Well, yes, my lady, I should like to ask you one or two questions.”
“Come in here. This is my husband’s study, and we shall be quite
uninterrupted.”
Barbara opened a door to the left of the hall and entered first. Mrs.
Ives followed her. Barbara closed the door behind her guest.
“And now what is it?” she asked.
“Well, my lady, I have come here to know if by any chance a little boy
has arrived during the last twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t understand,” said Barbara. “A little boy—what do you mean?”
“A very pretty little boy, my lady,” said Mrs. Ives, speaking slowly,
her eyes fixed on Barbara’s blooming face. “Brown eyes he had, deep and
soft, a wonderful look in ’em, starry eyes, I call ’em, and a little
brown face with roses in his cheeks, and black hair all curly, and his
name, my lady, is Piers. Has he come here within the last twenty-four
hours?”
“Certainly not. What a strange question to ask. A boy called Piers. Why,
that is the name of the dear little fellow who died three months ago.”
“I was thinking of that, my lady.”
“But what can you mean? The child you describe is exactly like the
little Piers who died. Please explain yourself.”
“I can do it in a few words, my lady. I has had the care of a little boy
just as I have described, with the air of the nobility about him, and a
splendid way and brave, brave as a hero of antiquity, but he’s lost, my
lady. I went to town to see my darter, Clara Tarbot what now is—she
looks mortal bad—riches don’t agree with her. I saw my darter on the
subject of the little boy, and when I come home he was gone. I thought
maybe he’d come here.”
“I cannot understand it,” said Barbara. She began to tremble. She did
not know why. “A little boy whom you had the care of called Piers, with
that sort of appearance, and you thought he would come here. But why
should he come here?”
“I had the thought, my lady. I ain’t prepared to say what gave birth to
it.”
“I have been out of the house all day,” said Barbara after another
pause, “but I will of course inquire. If you will stay where you are I
can soon let you know.”
Barbara left the room. The little woman clasped her hands and looked
straight before her.
“This is his house,” she said to herself, “and the room is a beautiful
one—heaps of air, big, lofty. If I don’t soon get tidings the police
must be told that he’s not an ordinary little boy, but Sir Piers Pelham
himself.”
Lady Pelham returned, and her face was pale.
“I have made inquiries,” she said, “but no little boy has arrived
to-day. It is late, and I will give you a bed for the night. The child
you have been taking care of may turn up in the morning, but I cannot
possibly imagine why you should think he was coming here. Would you like
to stay here for the night?”
“It’s late,” said Mrs. Ives, “and my bones, they do ache terrible. Ha’
you got a feather bed and a room without curtains and bare floor?”
Barbara could not help smiling.
“I daresay we can accommodate you with what you require in one of the
attics,” she said.
“Then I will stay, for the child may come in the morning. Did you ask
Mrs. Posset if the child had come?”
“Certainly, I went to Mrs. Posset first of all.”
“And what did she say?”
“Your description made her cry. I had to explain that——”
“What, my lady?”
“That it could not have been our little boy.”
“And why not, my pretty lady?”
“Because I saw him after he died,” said Barbara. “Oh, you make my heart
ache when you talk of him. He is dead and in his grave. Now I will take
you to the housekeeper. She will give you a comfortable room for the
night.”