ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
WHEN Lizzie's flight was discovered, her master went at once to tell
her mother and father, and advised that Mr. Betts should go with him
and inform the police of what had happened.
This was done, and by ten o'clock that Sunday morning, every policeman
in the town had received instructions to look after a girl in a straw
hat carrying a bundle.
But, as we know, Lizzie was not likely to be met with near any of the
routes these policemen would traverse; and so Jack and her father, as
well as her master and mistress, went in vain to the police-station for
news of her, for no one had seen a girl answering such a description as
was given, within reach of the town that day. From sheer inability to
sit still and do nothing, Jack and his father had gone in search of her
themselves.
Emma Russell was visited, and asked all sorts of questions; but beyond
the fact that Lizzie did not like service, and wanted to go home and
help her mother with the washing, she knew nothing. Certainly she had
never heard her say anything about going away. She had not seen her for
a week; for although they had arranged to meet and walk home together
on Wednesday, and Emma had waited at the corner of the road for her,
Lizzie never came, and she, Emma, had been obliged to run all the way
home to make up for the time she had wasted in waiting.
Jack pondered over this; for, although there seemed nothing in it
likely to lead to the solution of the mystery at first, taken in
connection with another little bit of information that he learned
during the day, it might have some important bearing in the case.
Lizzie had been out that Wednesday evening, he heard; for someone had
seen her hurrying in the direction of Snowfields with her best hat on,
and another friend had seen her leave the fair, talking to a stout
woman dressed in a plaid shawl. The friend had not spoken to Lizzie,
for he thought the woman might be a neighbour who had come to take care
of her, as it was rather late for a girl like Lizzie to be out.
So Jack's next quest was for this woman, and he went home to ask his
mother which of the neighbours wore a plaid shawl. And the garments
usually worn by everybody they knew were discussed; but only about two
had ever been seen in plaid shawls, and they were by no means stout
individuals.
But still Jack went to make inquiries of them, for he was ready to
catch at any straw that was likely to afford a clue to the heart
of this mystery; but, of course, he met with blank disappointment.
Neither of these people had seen Lizzie lately, nor had they been near
Snowfields for some months.
So he had to turn homewards once more, with the dreary tale of
failure written on his face. Lizzie's mistress, however, could give
some confirmation of the fact about her being out late on Wednesday,
and that she had given her notice to leave in consequence of her
carelessness the next night, hoping that this might have the effect of
making her more careful in future, which if it did, she had told her,
she would look over the past and let her stay.
This confirmation of the fact that Lizzie had gone to the fair instead
of going home, made Jack persistently cling to the idea that Lizzie's
disappearance was somehow connected with the fair-folks. He had learned
from the police that most of the vans that had stood here bore the name
of Stanley, but beyond this he could learn nothing. They laughed at
him when he suggested that they had run away with his sister. Girls of
fifteen, able to talk and walk, could not be carried off against their
will; and, besides:
"What could these gypsy folks do with a girl like her?" the policeman
asked.
Jack shook his head. The question puzzled him, but still he held on
to his notion. He knew the disappearance of his sister was somehow
connected with these fair-folks, and he tried to find out where they
were going next, that he might go after them.
But nobody could tell him this; for nobody had troubled themselves
about these nomadic people, who came and went without exciting much
notice or much remark. The steam roundabout and all the shows were in
full swing on Saturday night, and they had entirely disappeared by
seven o'clock on Sunday morning, leaving nothing but dirt and refuse
behind.
"Yes, and it was early on Sunday morning that Lizzie went away," said
Jack to the man who gave him this information. "Her mistress called her
at half-past seven, but she was gone; and the back door and back gate
were unfastened, so that she went early too."
The police, however, had formed quite another theory to account for
the girl's disappearance. They did not condescend to tell anybody what
this was; but it came out in a day or two, that her mistress had lost
a silver fruit knife, which she was certain she had used a day or two
before the girl went away, and left it in the sideboard drawer.
Of course, as this article had been missed, other articles might have
been taken also; and when her poor mother heard of this, and that her
only girl was branded as a thief, her grief and distress was increased
tenfold. As for her father, it well-nigh killed him. The mental
depression caused by want of employment had already begun to affect his
health, and now he seemed to give up all hope and desire for life. So
long as there was any chance of finding Lizzie in the town, he tramped
on unweariedly; but when this failed, and the discovery was made that
the silver fruit knife was missing, and must have been taken by Lizzie,
the poor man uttered a groan of anguish and fell back in his chair like
one demented. He made no further effort to find Lizzie. She was lost,
he said—lost beyond recovery.
Her husband's failing health now imposed a double burden upon poor Mrs.
Betts; for he was soon unable to move from his chair beside the fire,
and had to be waited on like a confirmed invalid. Jack, however, was
young and strong, and he was very angry at the charge of theft being
brought against his sister. He loved her still in spite of appearances
being so much against her. She was foolish, he admitted—all girls were;
but Lizzie had never stolen that knife, he was sure, and he would go in
search of her though he had to tramp all over England before he found
her.
Lizzie's dearest friend, Emma, applauded his resolution. She too was
quite sure Lizzie would never steal the knife. And if she never came
back, her character ought to be cleared, and her brother ought to do
all he could, as nobody else was able to do much.
So after a week had passed away in fruitless searchings and inquiries,
Jack shouldered his father's basket of tools and set off on tramp to
look for work and look for his sister.
He was two years older than Lizzie; but, although little more than
a lad himself, he had learned the trade of a whitesmith in all its
branches, and was a skilful and steady workman. He could hang a bell,
repair a lock, stop a leak in a water pipe, and do many other odd jobs.
And after taking counsel with his mother, he set off on the Monday
morning, determined to earn his bread at least by the use of his tools.
His mother gave him a shilling or two—all she could spare, and bread
enough to last him through the day.
She parted from him with tears, and many injunctions to be careful and
write to her as soon as he had any news of Lizzie. And although some of
their friends looked upon his plan as a harebrained scheme, still it
was a comfort to the poor mother to think someone had gone in search of
her foolish girl, and any day might bring tidings of her now Jack had
fairly set off.
She tried to cheer her husband with hopes of Jack getting a good job
of work while he was searching for Lizzie; for, though work was scarce
here, it did not follow that it must be so everywhere. Her Jack was a
steady lad, and a master would soon learn to know his value and be glad
to employ him.
This was her constant theme when with her husband. For she wanted to
draw his mind away from its continual brooding over Lizzie and the
missing knife, for it was the only chance of saving him from sinking
into hopeless melancholy, the doctor said—for a doctor had been called
in to attend him since he had been so much worse.
The poor man would listen to his wife's cheery, hopeful words, and
appear to dwell upon them for a few minutes, but, left to himself, he
would soon relapse into his former hopeless despondency, and murmur
half aloud, "Our girl is lost—quite lost now."
Meanwhile, Jack having ascertained by which route the fair-folks had
left the town, took the same road in pursuit of them. He did not ask
for work at all the first day, but was careful to inquire at the
public-houses he passed whether they had seen some show and gypsy vans
pass by that way about a week before.
Of course, in many instances people had forgotten all about this
fact, even if they paid any attention to it at the time, and so it
was not easy to glean any intelligence of them now. But by persistent
inquiries, and explaining why he was so anxious to trace them, Jack
learned enough to convince him that he was on their track, and now he
must be careful not to lose the trail. A boy showed him where they had
lighted a fire on the heath, and by noting this and other marks upon
the grass, the lad thought he should be able to detect where they had
been in other places.
By the time he reached the next town, he was tired out, and had eaten
most of the bread and cheese his mother had tied up in a handkerchief
for him. So he decided to look out for a job of work that would earn
for him a supper and a night's lodging, and he was fortunate enough to
find something he could do almost as soon as he entered the town.
An old man was struggling with a restive horse, and Jack, seeing he was
in some danger, put his basket of tools down in a place of safety, and
ran to his assistance.
It seemed that the lock of the stable door was broken, and the horse
had kicked away the frail fastening the old man had put up to keep the
door closed, and so had got out and had broken through a hedge into a
neighbouring garden.
"I can mend the lock, perhaps," said Jack. "Let me look at it."
"I wish you could, my lad," said the man; "for it's a good strong lock,
though it is old-fashioned."
"Well, we'll tie up the horse, and then I'll soon have the lock off,
and see what's amiss with it."
The animal, finding it was no use to resist any further, gave up the
struggle, and allowed himself to be led into the stable and secured
there, while Jack fetched his basket of tools and set to work to take
off the lock.
It was a large old-fashioned thing, very dirty and rusty, and the
spring quite ruined.
"It will take me an hour or two to clean it, and I must get a new
spring for it; but when that is done, the lock will be as good as
ever," said Jack, rubbing off some of the rust with his finger as he
spoke.
"How much will it cost to do it up? It's worth a dozen of any
new-fangled sort I could buy now," added the man.
Jack turned it over and looked at it again. "I'll do the work for a
shilling, if you'll buy the spring," he said. "It won't cost much; only
twopence or threepence," he added.
"All right! You shall do it then; and I'll fetch a cup of tea and a
bite of bread and butter for you that you may get it done before dark.
You leave your tools here, and go and get the spring." And he told Jack
where he would find a shop that was likely to supply it, and gave him
sixpence to pay for it.
"You'll do no good with that old lock," said the ironmonger when he saw
what Jack wanted the spring for.
"Oh, yes, I shall. It's clumsy, but it's a good lock, and worth taking
some trouble over."
The man turned it about, and looked at it again. "I tell you what," he
said, "if you can make that lock answer, I'll give you work to-morrow."
"Thank you, I'll be glad of a day's work; and when I've finished this
job, I'll bring it to you to look at it," said Jack.
He ran back with the spring he had bought, and very soon had the lock
to pieces, and was busy cleaning the different parts of it. This sort
of work he had often done for his father, and he did not mind the
trouble of rubbing, and scrubbing, and scraping that was required
to remove the rust. It took him a long time to clean the old thing
thoroughly, and make it serviceable again; but the lock was a good one
and worth the trouble, and when at last Jack had got it all fitted
together again, he was delighted to find that it would work as easily
as possible.
"Now, I want to show it to the man at the shop where I bought the
spring," said Jack, as he looked at his work triumphantly. "He'll give
me a job to-morrow, he says, if I make anything of this."
"All right! You shall show it to him; and you may tell him from me, he
ain't got a lock in his shop like it," said the old man, who was very
proud of his clumsy lock.
Jack carried it to the smith's, who was just putting up his shutters,
and told Jack to wait in the shop until he had finished.
So Jack spread his arms on the counter, as he was in the habit of
doing, and his eyes went roving round until they lighted on something
he had not expected to see in a little smith's shop like this.
"I say, mister," called Jack, as soon as the man appeared, "where did
you get that silver knife? It's a fruit knife, ain't it?"
"Yes, I believe it is. But what do you want to know about it for?"
Then Jack told of his sister's mysterious disappearance, and how she
was accused of stealing a knife just like this one.
"Where did you get it?" he asked eagerly.
"Well, I bought it about a week ago, of a woman who brought it into the
shop to ask if I could tell her whether it was silver. She had just
picked it up as she came across the heath, she said."
"Was she a stout woman, wearing a plaid shawl?" said Jack.
Yet why he asked the question he could not tell, for would it not be a
confirmation of Lizzie's guilt, if it could be proved that the woman
she was seen leaving the fair with, and the one who sold this knife,
were the same person?
The man looked at the lad's anxious face, and said cautiously: "I don't
want no bother with the police. If you know anything about the knife,
why, I'll let you have it for what I gave for it."
But Jack shook his head to this proposal. "I haven't got any money to
spare," he said; "but I should like you to show it to the police, and
tell them where you got it."
But the "bother" of having anything to do with the police almost
frightened the man, and it was not until Jack had appealed to him, and
told him about his father's illness and his mother's despair, that he
would consent to lock it up in his desk, and keep it out of sight until
he should hear more about the business from Jack by and by.
Then he looked at the lock, and offered Jack employment at once. But
the lad explained how he had left home in search of his sister, and
could not give up the quest until he had learned something about her.
He would stay in the town through the following day, and do a few odd
lobs that were ready, and make inquiries as to whether anyone had seen
the gypsy vans passing through the town, and which route they had taken.
He went back to fasten the lock on the stable door, wondering at the
chance or providence that had sent him to the shop where that knife was
to be seen. He felt sure that it was the one that had been taken from
Mrs. Spencer's house; but the fact that the woman who had sold it was
the same one who was seen leaving the fair with his sister seemed to
connect her directly with the theft.
Poor Jack pondered over this as he screwed on the lock securely, and
afterwards, when he went in search of a cheap lodging for the night.
He could think of nothing but the finding of this knife, which, simple
as it was, seemed almost as mysterious, as he thought over it, as the
disappearance of Lizzie herself.
He got a bed, but having had a good tea, he would not spend any of his
money on supper to-night; for he did not know what he might want before
Lizzie was found.
So he went to work the next morning as he had promised, but pushed his
inquiries about the gypsy vans, and whether anyone had seen a stout
woman dressed in a plaid shawl.
"Why, yes! And she had a red face, and a red rose in her bonnet," said
one gossiping woman, who heard Jack's question about this.
"And was she with people who had gypsy vans?" asked Jack eagerly.
"To be sure she was—owns some of them herself, I believe," said his
informant. "Leastways it was said she did when they put up here for one
winter."
"These people stayed here all the winter?" said Jack, thinking the
woman could surely tell him all about them, and where they were likely
to be found now.
But no! It seemed this woman could give him just enough information to
make him desirous of knowing more, but there she had to stop. They had
stayed in this neighbourhood all the previous winter, but had gone away
in the spring, and had not been seen since until the previous week,
when they passed through the town again. But where they had gone now,
she did not know, and probably they did not know themselves, she told
Jack.
So the lad finished his work for that day, took his money at night, and
started off early the next morning in pursuit of these people, who,
he felt sure, knew something of his sister, if they had not actually
carried her off with them.
About the middle of that day, he picked up a little strip of a print
dress that struck him as being familiar, and he decided to send a
little piece of it in a letter to his mother, and ask her if it was not
a piece of Lizzie's frock.
He had found it on the side of a common, near a spot where a fire had
evidently been lighted, and which bore other traces of being used as a
camping-ground for a short time. He wished now he had followed them up
sooner, but still he was thankful for this small proof that he was on
the right track still.
And when he reached the village beyond, he got writing materials, and
sent off a piece of the rag he had picked up, by way of cheering his
mother, and giving her fresh hope that Lizzie might yet be found.