THE PHANTOM OF THE STATION
There was a crash in Mrs. Morton's kitchen, where an elegant five o'clock
tea was preparing, not only to greet Herbert, who had just come home to
await the news of his fate after the last military examination open to
him, but also for a friend or two of his mother's, who, to his great
annoyance, might be expected to drop in on any Wednesday afternoon.
Every one ran out to see what was the matter, and the maid was found
picking up Mrs. Morton's silver teapot, the basket-work handle of which
had suddenly collapsed under the weight of tea and tea-leaves. The
mistress's exclamations and objurgation of the maid for not having
discovered its frail condition need not be repeated. It had been a
wedding-present, and was her great pride. After due examination to see
whether there were any bruises or dents, she said--
'Well, Ida, we must have yours; run and fetch it out of the box. You
have the key of it.' And she held out the key of the cupboard where the
spoons were daily taken out by herself or Ida.
The teapot had been left to Ida by a godmother, who had been a farmer's
wife, with a small legacy, but was of an unfashionable make and seldom
saw the light.
'That horrid, great clumsy thing!' said Ida. 'You had much better use
the blue china one.'
'I'll never use that crockery for company when there's silver in the
house! What would Mrs. Denham say if she dropped in?'
'I won't pour out tea in that ugly, heavy brute of a thing.'
'Then if you won't, I will. Give me the key this instant!'
'It is mine, and I am not going to give it up!'
'Come, Ida,' said Herbert, weary of the altercation; 'any one would think
you had made away with it! Let us have it for peace's sake.'
'It's no business of yours.'
He whistled. However, at that moment the door-bell rang.
It was to admit a couple of old ladies, whom both the young people viewed
as very dull company; and the story of the illness of 'my brother, Lord
Northmoor,' as related by their mother, had become very tedious, so that
as soon as possible they both sauntered out on the beach.
'I wonder when uncle will send for you!' Ida said. 'He must give you a
good allowance now.'
'Don't talk of it, Ida; it makes me sick to think of it. I say--is that
the old red rock where they saw the last of the poor little kid?'
'Yes; that was where his hat was.'
'Did you find it? Was it washed up?'
'Don't talk of such dreadful things, Bertie; I can't bear it! And
there's Rose Rollstone!'
Ida would have done her utmost to keep her brother and Rose Rollstone
apart at any other time, but she was at the moment only too glad to
divert his attention, and allowed him, without protest, to walk up to
Rose, shake hands with her, and rejoice in her coming home for good; but,
do what Ida would, she could not keep him from recurring to the thought
of the little cousin of whom he had been very fond.
'Such a jolly little kid!' he said; 'and full of spirit! You should have
seen him when I picked him up before me on the cob. How he laughed!'
'So good, too,' said Rose. 'He looked so sweet with those pretty brown
eyes and fair curls at church that last Sunday.'
'I can't make out how it was. The tide could not have been high enough
to wash him off going round that rock, or the other children would not
have gone round it.'
'Oh, I suppose he ran after a wave,' said Ida hastily.
'Do you know,' said Rose mysteriously, 'I could have declared I saw him
that very evening, and with his nursery-maid, too!'
'Nonsense, Rose! We don't believe in ghosts!' said Ida.
'It was not like a ghost,' said Rose. 'You know I had come down for the
bank-holiday, and went back to finish my quarter at the art embroidery.
Well, when we stopped at the North Westhaven station, I saw a man, woman,
and child get in, and it struck me that the boy was Master Michael and
the woman Louisa Hall. I think she looked into the carriage where I was,
and I was going to ask her where she was taking him.'
'Nonsense, Rose! How can you listen to such folly, Herbert?'
'But that's not all! I saw them again under the gas when I got out. I
was very near trying to speak to her, but I lost sight of her in the
throng; but I saw that face so like Master Michael, only scared and just
ready to cry.'
'You'll run about telling that fine ghost-story,' said Ida roughly.
'But Louisa could not have been a ghost,' said Rose, bewildered. 'I
thought she was his nursery-maid taking him somewhere! Didn't she--'
then with a sudden flash--'Oh!'
'Turned off long ago for flirting with that scamp Rattler,' said Herbert.
'Now she has run off with him.'
'There was a sailor-looking man with her,' said Rose.
'I never heard such intolerable nonsense!' burst out Ida. 'Mere
absurdity!'
Herbert looked at her with surprise at the strange passion she exhibited.
He asked--
'Did you say the Hall girl had run away?'
'Oh, never mind, Herbert!' cried Ida, as if unable to command herself.
'What is it to you what a nasty, horrid girl like that does?'
'Hold your tongue, Ida!' he said resolutely. 'If you won't speak, let
Rose.'
'She did,' said Rose, in a low, anxious, terrified voice. 'I only heard
it since I came home. She was married at the registrar's office to that
man Jones, whom they call the Rattler, and went off with him. It must
have been her whom I saw, really and truly; and, oh, Herbert, could she
have been so wicked as to steal Master Michael!'
'Somebody else has been wicked then,' said Herbert, laying hold of his
sister's arm.
'I don't know what all this means,' exclaimed Ida, in great agitation;
'nor what you and Rose are at! Making up such horrible, abominable
insinuations against me, your poor sister! But Rose Rollstone always
hated me!'
'She does not know what she is saying,' sighed Rose; and, with much
delicacy, she moved away.
'Let me go, Herbert!' cried Ida, as she felt his grip on her hand.
'Not I, Ida--till you have answered me! Is this so--that Michael is not
drowned, but carried off by that woman?' demanded Herbert, holding her
fast and looking at her with manly gravity, not devoid of horror.
'He is a horrid little impostor, palmed off to keep you out of the title
and everything! That's why I did it!' sobbed Ida, trying to wrench
herself away.
'Oh, you did it, did you? You confess that! And what have you done with
him?'
'I tell you he is no Morton at all--just the nurse-woman's child, taken
to spite you. I found it all out at--what's its name?--Botzen; only ma
would not be convinced.'
'I should suppose not! To think that my uncle and aunt would do such a
thing--why, I don't know whether it is not worse than stealing the
child!'
'Herbert! Herbert! do you want to bring your sister to jail, talking in
that way?'
'It is no more than you deserve. I _would_ bring you there if it is the
only way to get back the child! I do not know what is bad enough for
you. My poor uncle and aunt! To have brought such misery on them!' He
clenched his hands as he spoke.
'Everybody said she didn't mind--didn't ask questions, didn't cry, didn't
go on a bit like his real mother.'
'She could not, or it might have been the death of my uncle. Bertha
wrote it all to me; but you--you would never understand. Ida, I can't
believe that you, my sister, could have done such an awfully wicked
thing!'
'I wouldn't, only I was sure he was not--'
'No more of that stuff!' said Herbert. 'You don't know what they are.'
'I do. So strict--not a bit like a mother.'
'If our mother had been like them, you might not have been such a
senseless monster,' said Herbert, pausing for a word. 'Come, now; tell
me what you have done with him, or I shall have to set on the police.'
'Oh, Herbert, how can you be so cruel?'
'It is not I that am cruel! Come, speak out! Did you bribe her with
your teapot? Ah! I see: what has she done with him?'
He gripped her arm almost as he used to torture her when they were
children, and insisted again that either she must tell him the whole
truth or he should set the police on the track.
'You wouldn't,' she said, awed. 'Think of the exposure and of mother!'
'I can think of nothing but saving Mite! I say--my mother knows nothing
of this?'
'Oh no, no!'
Herbert breathed more freely, but he was firm, and seemed suddenly to
have grown out of boyishness into manly determination, and gradually he
extracted the whole story from her. He would not listen to the delusion
in which she had worked herself into believing, founded upon the
negations for which she had sedulously avoided seeking positive
refutation, and which had been bolstered up by her imagination and
wishes, working on the unsubstantial precedents of novels. She had
brought herself absolutely to believe in the imposture, and at a moment
when her uncle's condition seemed absolutely to place within her grasp
the coronet for Herbert, with all possibilities for herself.
Then came the idea of Louisa Hall, inspired by seeing her speak to little
Michael on the beach, and obtain his pretty smiles and exclamation of
'Lou, Lou! mine Lou!' for he had certainly liked this girl better than
Ellen, who was wanting in life and animation. Ida knew that Sam Jones,
alias Rattler, was going out to join his brother in Canada, and that
Louisa was vehemently desirous to accompany him, but had failed to
satisfy the requirements of Government as to character, so as to obtain a
free passage, and was therefore about to be left behind in desertion and
distress. She might beguile Michael away quietly and carry him to
Canada, where, as it seemed, there were any amount of farmers ready to
adopt English children--a much better lot, in Ida's eyes, than the little
Tyrolese impostor deserved. She even persuaded herself that she was
doing an act of great goodness, when, at the price of her teapot, she
obtained that Louisa should be married by the registrar to Sam Jones, and
their passage paid, on condition of their carrying away Michael with
them. The man was nothing loth, having really a certain preference for
Louisa, and likewise a grudge against Lord Northmoor for having spoilt
that game with Miss Morton, which might have brought the means for the
voyage.
They were married on Whit Monday, and Ida was warned that if she and
Louisa could not get possession of the child by Wednesday, he would be
left behind. Louisa was accordingly on the watch, and Ida hovered about,
just enough completely to put the nurses off their guard. They heard
Michael's imploring call of 'Willie! Willie!' and then Louisa descended
on him with coaxings and promises, and Ida knew no more, except that, as
she had desired, a parcel had been sent her containing the hat and shoes.
The spade she had herself picked up.
When Rose had seen them, they had no doubt been on their way to
Liverpool.
It seemed to be Herbert's horror-stricken look that first showed his
sister the enormity of what she had done, and when she pleaded 'for your
sake,' he made such a fierce sound of disgust, that she only durst add
further, 'Oh, Herbert, you will not tell?'
'Not find him?' he thundered.
'No, no; I didn't mean that! But don't let them know about me! Just
think--'
'I must think! Get away now; I can't bear you near!'
And just then a voice was heard, 'Miss Hider, Miss Hider, your ma wants
you!'