MASTER HASTINGS.
"MRS. AMESBURY!" exclaimed Mrs. Anstruther. "Now I can tell you who
your little Jack is! I can even make a good guess at the solution of
the mystery, for a mystery I have always thought it. How such a child
could be lost and never inquired about! He must be the son of Mr.
Hastings, of Cotherby, in Yorkshire. Mr. Hastings is a most excellent
good man; I am glad to think the child belongs to him. Mrs. Hastings is
very young, ever so much younger than her husband—a sweet little thing,
and quite a beauty. She was very ill when the child was born, and
never regained strength; in fact, I heard that she had lost the power
of walking without help, and I know that Mr. Hastings was advised to
take her to sea in his yacht, and keep her away for months, as her best
chance of a cure.
"They sailed, I know, taking the child with them, but I suppose it did
not answer, and they must have put back to Southampton, and landed poor
Fanny and the baby, and this Derrick, to go to Mrs. Amesbury, who would
take good care of them, for she was very fond of the Hastingses. But
when Derrick reached her house, he would have heard that she was very
ill; she had a dreadfully infectious fever, and she died, poor thing;
in fact, this Derrick may have found that she was dead. So, you see,
she never heard about the child, and the Hastingses probably got no
letters for ever so long, as they have been sailing about, keeping at
sea as much as possible. I dare say it was hearing of Mrs. Amesbury's
death that brought them home, for I think they meant to be absent much
longer—they are at home, I know. I only wonder what became of Derrick,
whoever he is."
"Well," said Hannah, standing up, "'tis clear to me that to let Owen
Morgan get a reward for such a piece of villainy would be just a sin.
I'll take the child to town at once, and take him to his father's house
to-morrow early; that is, ma'am, if you can give me his address in
London."
"I can do that. But you will weary yourself to death going back to town
to-night. Let us send a telegram instead."
"I'd rather go, ma'am. Telegraphs are all very well, but I never feel
as sure of them as I should like to feel about this. If the poor lady
is ill, nothing will make her feel easy about her child like having him
in her arms. Then Morgan will go to the house and find his game is up,
and he'll come direct to me. I want to see him and to tell him that he
won't get Ellen, that is, if you're certain sure, ma'am, that she will
not have to go with him?"
Ellen looked up for the first time. "Maybe I had better go," she said,
"for oh, I don't see how you're going to bear the sight of me again;
I've been so wicked."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Anstruther, "I must say, Ellen, that you take more
after your father than after your mother. I do not know how Hannah can
feel the same to you."
"Ah, ma'am, don't you be too hard on Ellen. She's been a good girl, I
can truly say, all the years we've been together, and this was just
a sudden temptation. She's had few to love, and she set her heart on
Jack, and never would allow a word said of parting with him; and so,
when the temptation came, she fell. But I'm very sure she couldn't have
kept it up. She'd have told me all when she came home, even if all this
had never happened, now wouldn't you, Ellen?"
"I would have tried. I meant to try. But I'm not sure that I'd have had
the courage. I was very near telling Miss Mildred, when she said she
saw I was miserable. I could take no pleasure in the child, though you
know how I used to love him; indeed, I love him still, but yet I could
not bear to look at him."
"Please let me say a word," put in Mildred Cartwright, who had not
hitherto spoken. "Ellen really did begin to tell me why she was so
unhappy, but her courage failed. She was always very timid."
"And I must say," Mrs. Anstruther added, "that she has been exceedingly
unhappy. I am sure she says what is quite true when she says that."
"And she told us all as soon as she knew that my poor Fanny was her
mother. Ellen," went on Hannah, stretching out her hand and touching
the girl gently, "I don't tell you to forget all about it, for that
you couldn't do, nor ought to do, but I will never mention it to you
as long as you live and I live. Give me your hand, child. Why, you're
as cold as ice, and shivering. You can't come with me to-night, that's
very plain. But if Mrs. Anstruther will keep you for a few days, it
will be better in every way."
"Of course I will keep her, Hannah. She is really safer here in every
way, as you say."
"Now go, Ellen dear, and take Jack up and get him dressed. Wrap him up
well. I shall be in time for the night mail, if you'll send me back to
Ryde, ma'am."
Ellen rose and left the room. No punishment could have been devised for
her, short of handing her over to her worthless father, more severe
than this; for she was at all times afraid of Mrs. Anstruther, and just
now would have done anything rather than face her. But she made no
resistance; she felt that she deserved it.
She dressed the child carefully, and if he caught cold, it would not be
for want of wraps.
Hannah took poor Fanny's papers and a note from Mrs. Anstruther to Mr.
Hastings, and was soon on her way to Ryde. Without meeting with any
adventure, she reached London early in the morning.
"Shall I ever forget poor Ellen's face, and how she clung to me when
I kissed her? The poor thing hardly thought of Jack, though she may
never see him again. Indeed, now, I think I was a bit cruel to leave
her there. But still, it is for the best. Miss Mildred will talk to her
better than I could. And there's no saying what Morgan might do if he
got hold of her."
Having slept a good deal in the railway carriage, Hannah was less tired
than was to have been expected. She got into a cab and drove home,
meaning to dress Jack in his best attire before she went to Queen's
Gate with him. She was hardly out of the cab, when trotting down the
pavement came Mrs. Collins, her head wagging portentously, and her
hands uplifted.
"Oh, Mrs. Rule! Oh, such a day as I had of it yesterday! Oh to think
that you could be deceiving me all these years!—To find that you are so
sly and—"
"Let me pay the man and open my door," said Hannah. "I don't know what
you've got in your head now, but I suppose it needn't be all said in
the street. Come back for me at eleven, will you?" she said to the
driver. "I want to go to—a good way off."
"Yes, mum, I will," said cabby, and departed.
"Now, Mrs. Collins, while I light the fire to get ready some food for
Jack and me, maybe you'll tell me what bee you've got in your bonnet
now?"
Mrs. Collins, foreseeing tea and more solid refreshment, sat down and
moderated her tone a good deal.
"I see you've brought the baby back, Mrs. Rule; but where's Ellen?"
"I left her behind," said Hannah.
"And that's all I'm to hear, I suppose. Well, you've no friendliness
in you, Hannah Rule! To go away and lock your house up, and never give
me a hint of it! Why, I was so certain you'd be home presently that I
asked him into my kitchen to wait for you, and wait he did, decent man,
for a length of time, and bid me say he'd come again when he could."
"And who was it, Mrs. Collins? You've not named him."
"Who should it be but your brother-in-law, Mr. Morgan? And you know
well enough what he wanted, ma'am. He'd been to Armine's Trust and
claimed his child, and found that you had removed her long ago, and
never told him when he spoke about her that very morning. But, as I
said to him, that's Hannah Rule! Secret as secret, she is. What's her
conduct to you compared with her conduct to me? I said. Seven years she
has had the girl and never told me she was her own niece; ashamed no
doubt of her having been reared in a foundling."
"I couldn't tell you what I did not know myself, and I am not bound to
tell you anything. Did Morgan say anything more?"
"Nothing much. He talked of his business, that he means to put Ellen
into."
"Ay, indeed? Will you have a cup of tea? 'Tis made now."
"Thank you. If he comes again while you're out, what am I to tell him?"
"Just tell him all you know," said Hannah, with a private chuckle.
Mrs. Collins finished her tea and trotted home; being a woman of a slow
intellect, it did not strike her at the time that she knew nothing.
"And there'd have been no use in questions," she muttered when this
idea occurred to her. "I will ever say, 'Hannah Rule is as close as
wax.'"
Hannah, in her decent mourning, and Baby in his clean white frock and
cape, drove up to the door of a great mansion in Queen's Gate, at a
little before twelve o'clock. Before the cabman knocked at the door,
Hannah tenderly kissed the bright little face, and said—
"God bless you, little Jack! I fare to feel quite low, parting with
you."
A footman opened the door, and Hannah asked if Mr. Hastings were at
home.
"He is," said the man, eyeing her and the child closely.
Hannah dismissed her cab, and handed Mrs. Anstruther's note to the
servant.
"Will you take that to your master if he's alone. Don't let Mrs.
Hastings see it. Is she better?"
"Not much," he said, looking at her hard. "I wonder—"
He took the note, showed her into a small room off the hall, and
hurried away.
Long before Hannah thought it possible, the door was flung open, and an
elderly looking gentleman came hurriedly in. The footman was behind him.
"A child, did you say?"—Then his eyes met Hannah's and he became
silent; his lips moved, but no words were heard.
"Are you Mr. Hastings, sir."
"Yes. And you?"
[Illustration: HE FORCED HIMSELF TO READ FANNY'S LETTER.]
"This is your boy, sir. You may believe me, indeed; I can prove it
beyond a doubt. I'm Fanny's sister."
"Freeman—shut the door—stay here: not a word must be heard of this,
till I am sure. Yet I 'am' sure! The child is so like its mother."
Hannah set the boy on the floor; he could walk a little now, but he
stood holding her dress and staring at his father.
"If you'll glance at this, sir, it will make all clear." And she gave
him Fanny's packet of papers.
His hands shook and his eyes were dim, but he forced himself to read
Fanny's letter and to look at the other papers.
Then he gazed at the boy, as if he could never gaze enough.
But Jack hid his face in Hannah's dress after a minute or so.
"It is seven months since he was lost," Mr. Hastings said, rousing
himself. "Where has he been?"
Hannah told her story briefly. While she spoke, Mr. Hastings lifted the
child to his knee and held him in a close embrace.
"It seems all quite certain," he said, "and Mrs. Anstruther answers for
you—she knows you. I owe you more than I can ever tell you. It may be
that I owe you my wife's life. My little Alaric, the sight of you may
save her. It is but a few hours since I had to tell her that the child
was lost. I have known it myself for some time, but we were at sea, and
my letters kept following us about. I could not leave her, so I was
forced to bring her home, and I have put her off with excuses. But she
began to suspect, and we had to tell her. And now, how to tell her that
he is found, I really do not know—the shock nearly killed her, and this
will be as great."
"But quite different, sir. Joy never hurt any one yet, that I heard of.
Just carry Jack—you'll excuse me, but that's what we call him—to her
door and let him toddle in; he can walk grand, holding your finger;
and you'll see how she'll rejoice. Let me take off his hat—look at his
pretty curls! Believe me, sir, 'twill be new life to her, just to twist
one of them round her fingers."
But Jack, or Alaric, call him which you will, declined with piteous
whimpers to be separated from Hannah, and she had to go upstairs with
him to the lady's dressing-room, or rather to the door of it, attended
by Mr. Hastings and followed by the footman, who carried Mr. Hastings's
hat!
At the door Mr. Hastings came to a stand.
"I dare not do it," he whispered. "I had better send for the doctor—she
is so weak, poor child."
"Well, sir, if it will be a relief to you," said Hannah.
So Freeman was despatched for the doctor, and Hannah was conducted to
a distant room, there to await his arrival. In a short time, they were
joined by Dr. Marshall, who looked quite excited.
"Your servant has been telling me, Mr. Hastings. Well, you cannot doubt
that this is the child! He is the image of his mother. Eh, little
fellow! We'll soon have your mother well now. You must tell me all
about it some other time; the fact that he is here, safe and sound, is
enough for me just now. My patient's state has really alarmed me."
By Dr. Marshall's advice, no time was lost. They all went to the poor
mother's room at once. But Hannah and the child remained hidden by
a screen which was drawn across the door, while the doctor and Mr.
Hastings tried to prepare her for the sudden joy that awaited her.
But the poor little lady—a fragile, lovely creature, who was really
only nineteen, and did not look fifteen, with her short, curly hair,
just like Jack's—was in so low and despairing a state of mind that it
seemed impossible to rouse her to hope.
"Oh, I know my baby is dead; you may as well tell me all at once!" she
said hopelessly. "Why did we ever part with him? But I know it was not
his nurse's fault; she was very fond of him."
"God bless the dear little soul for that word!" murmured Hannah.
And, getting impatient at the slow progress the two gentlemen were
making, she took the law into her own hands. Instead of trying to keep
the child quiet, she made a face at him which never failed to send
him into a jolly fit of laughing. At the sound, the lady started, and
Hannah never forgot her cry of half-terrified delight.
"Is it—oh, can it be 'my' baby?"
Hannah walked round the screen, set Jack on his sturdy little legs, and
led him up to the sofa.
"Ah! If Ellen could only see that, she'd be glad to give him up," said
Hannah.
At first, Mrs. Hastings could only hold the child close, and gaze at
him. But he put an end to this state of things, of which he greatly
disapproved, by raising a tremendous shout, and holding out his arms to
Hannah. And Mrs. Hastings, who for many a day had been unable to bear
the least noise, listened to his howls with a tearful smile of bliss,
and said—
"What a great big noise he makes; he must be very strong."
Hannah quieted the child, and persuaded him to kiss his mother, which
he did with a loud hearty smack, which amused her highly. Then Master
Hastings laid his head down on Hannah's shoulder, and uttered a kind
of humming noise, which, she said, meant that he was sleepy; and the
mother was astonished at his cleverness. When he was asleep, she said—
"Lay him here, please. I want to be sure it is all true."
Then there was a great talk. Hannah felt real gratitude when the pretty
little thing cried over poor Fanny's death, saying—
"I knew she was not to blame; she loved baby."
Hannah had to tell her story more than once, for Mr. Hastings wanted to
write it down.
"All this time," he said, when he laid down his pen, "neither of us,
Grace, has thought of thanking Mrs. Rule for all she has done for our
boy. And her niece, too, who has been so fond of him. I really do not
know how to thank you. You must have been at considerable expense, too,
as the child had no clothes when he came to you."
"I cannot bear to talk of 'that' part of it," Mrs. Hastings said,
taking Hannah's rough hand in her little delicate ones, "for she never
minded, but did it for kindness' sake. And though I cannot 'ever' say
all I feel about it, she knows."
"Indeed, ma'am, I do. And, if I may say it, I truly did it partly
because Ellen took so to the child, and partly for His sake Who blessed
the little children. As to expense, I was at none worth mentioning
except the clothes, and as I always thought his people were not poor, I
kept all the little bills, thinking they would rather pay for them. But
if I may ask a question or two, I would like to do so."
"Certainly; anything you want to know."
"Well, sir, what do you mean to do about Owen Morgan? I want to have
some notion what I may expect 'him' to do."
"I shall have a policeman here to meet him if he comes. There were some
valuable ornaments in that box; things I bought at Malta."
"Then you'll give him in charge, sir? I dare say that will be best for
us, too. Ellen is timid, and I don't want her to be frightened by him,
and I think he won't care to draw attention to himself when he is at
liberty again; so I've nothing to say against that. The other question
is, what sort of man was the servant you sent with my poor Fanny? And
what can have become of him?"
"Derrick? He is a very old man, and was my valet for years; a good,
honest man, and an old family servant, really attached to us. I
cannot imagine what has become of him. He must have arrived at my
poor cousin's house on the very day of her death, but none of her own
servants saw him. Many of them had been sent out of the house, and
of course there were strangers, nurses, and so forth, who would have
told him what had happened. I suppose he went back to the station, and
found the nurse and child gone, but I should have expected him to go
to the police—to telegraph to me. I cannot understand it at all. But
I have been so completely in the dark that I have been unable to make
inquiries with any chance of success."
"Was he leaving your service, sir?"
"Not at all. The idea of parting with old Derrick! He had attached
himself to the child, and insisted on coming with us to attend to him.
So, when we sent the boy back, he naturally went with him."
"And did he never call here, at your own house sir?"
"No; nothing has been heard of him."
"Well, I would seek him in the hospitals nearest the station, sir. A
very old man—the shock of losing the child might make him ill, or, he
might meet with an accident. Some way, that is what seems likely to me."
"A very practical idea; but there are one or two things that we must
arrange before I go about that," said Mr. Hastings. "Could you stay
with us, at least for a time, until the boy knows us a little? I
have an idea that he will shout for hours, if he finds himself among
strangers."
"I don't doubt that, sir. I can stay very well, but I must go home to
lock up my house. And I cannot stay long, for I have a good business
connection, and can't afford to lose it. Besides, there's Ellen to be
thought of. But if you'll get a nurse for the darling, I'll stay till
he gets friendly with her."
She got up and turned to look at the mother and child.
"He'll sleep a good long time now, ma'am; and it would do you no
harm to do the same. And you and he look like a pair of babies, I do
declare! I'll come back as soon as I can, and don't you be frightened
if he cries a bit. Ah, ma'am, but I'm thankful to God for this day!
It's a wonderful thing for a woman like me to be allowed to do a real
bit of service like this, and to finish it off so beautiful. God bless
you, little Jack! You're in your right place now."
Hannah reached home to find Owen Morgan waiting at her door.
"I thought you might be coming home to-day," he said. "But where's my
daughter, ma'am, and where's the child?"
Hannah opened her door, and stood in the doorway.
"Your daughter isn't in London, nor yet near it," she said. "The child
is in his mother's arms, and by this time, the police are looking for
you. So, good-bye, Mr. Morgan, and don't let me see your face again,
for I don't care to give you in charge myself."
Morgan swore a good deal, but Hannah shut the door and let him severely
alone. The sight of a policeman in the distance caused him to flee. He
never troubled Hannah or Ellen again, and the police failed to find
him. He returned to New York, and never visited England again.
When Hannah got back to Queen's Gate, she found the whole house in
commotion. Master Hastings had awakened—hungry, frightened, and cross,
and his roars were truly awful! All the female servants were assembled
in Mrs. Hastings's room, but their endeavours to amuse him, or even to
get him to eat, were unavailing. However, when Hannah appeared, he was
soon pacified, and consented to empty a bowl of bread and milk very
promptly.
Sitting beside the child's cot that night, Hannah began a long letter
to Ellen, saying everything she could think of to cheer and comfort
her. And before the letter was finished, she was able to tell that poor
Derrick was found.
The poor old man, shocked by the unexpected death of his master's
cousin, and uncertain how he ought to act, was completely overcome by
the loss of the child, and had a paralytic stroke while trying to tell
the station-master what he wanted. He had been taken to a hospital, and
though he was now better and had recovered the power of speech, he had
become quite childish, and had been sent to the poorhouse. His master
sent him to his Yorkshire home, where he was well-cared for, and lived
for some months.
When Hannah was able to return home, Mr. Hastings made her many
presents—among them a beautiful photograph of the child, which both
Hannah and Ellen valued above all the rest of their possessions. At
Hannah's earnest entreaty, the Hastingses took no notice of Ellen's
concealment of her poor mother's letter, and allowed her to come with
her aunt to see the little boy. And it showed how poor Ellen's heart
clung to the boy, that, in spite of her feelings of shame and sorrow,
she did at last go to see her darling.
"I think he knew me," she said; "but—'twasn't my little Jack, Mrs. Rule
dear. Ah, I'll never let myself make an idol again; I loved him too
much."
"Not a bit of it," said Hannah, in the quick, blunt way that Ellen once
upon a time used to dread. "It was not him you loved too much, Ellen
dear, but yourself. You did not think of what was best for him, or of
his mother's grief, but only of your own pleasure in having him. It's
as well to call things by their right names."
It was some time before Ellen could bring herself to acknowledge this,
but she learned the lesson at last. She and her aunt are very happy
together, and Mrs. Collins has forgiven Hannah for concealing the fact
that Ellen was her niece.
"And I've given up denying that I knew it," said Hannah, "for it's a
pleasure to the poor soul to believe it—and to come to tea because we
are friends in spite of it."
The one mystery about the adventures of little Alaric Hastings that
Hannah never solved to her own satisfaction was, why the woman with
whom Morgan left him gave him up to Ellen instead of restoring him to
his people herself, which would have ensured a reward. But the truth
was as follows:—
The child had been very fractious and troublesome, and the woman gave
him a dose of some soothing mixture to quiet him. Accidentally she gave
him too much, and, thinking him dying, resolved, if possible, to get
rid of him.
Alaric Hastings has both brothers and sisters now, and their young
mother frisks about among them, nearly as happy and joyous as the
children she loves so dearly. But perhaps she would hardly have been so
devoted to them had she never lost her eldest boy. For she was but a
child, and a spoilt child, until that terrible trial roused her deeper
feelings, and taught her to think of others as well as of herself.
FINIS.
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