PROWLING ABOUT.
So the blow had fallen. What we were dreading had come to pass. Tom
Heriot was back again.
I sat half-paralyzed with terror. Leah stood before me on the
hearthrug, pouring out her unwelcome disclosure with eager words now
that her first emotion had subsided. She went on with her tale more
coherently, but in undertones.
"After you had gone out this evening, Mr. Charles, I was in the
kitchen, when one of those small handfuls of gravel I dread to hear
rattled against the window. 'Nancy,' I groaned, my heart failing me. I
could not go to the door, lest Watts should come up and see me, for I
expected him back every minute; and, sure enough, just then I heard
his ring. I gave him the _Law Times_, as you bade me, sir, telling him
he was to take it round to Mr. Lake at once. When he was gone I ran up
to the door and looked about, and saw Nancy in the shadow of the
opposite house, where she mostly stands when waiting for me. I could
not speak to her then, but told her I would try and come out
presently. Her eldest boy, strolling away with others at play, had
been run over by a cab somewhere in Lambeth; he was thought to be
dying; and Nancy had come begging and praying me with tears to go with
her to see him."
"And you went, I suppose, Leah. Go on."
"You know her dreadful life, Mr. Charles, its sorrows and its misery;
how could I find it in my heart to deny her? When Watts came back from
Mr. Lake's, I had my bonnet and shawl on. 'What, going out?' said he,
in surprise, and rather crossly--for I had promised him a game at
cribbage. 'Well,' I answered, 'I've just remembered that I have to
fetch those curtains home to-night that went to be dyed; and I must
hasten or the shop may be shut up. I've put your supper ready in case
they keep me waiting, but I dare say I shall not be long.'"
To attempt to hurry Leah through her stories when once she had entered
upon them, was simply waste of words; so I listened with all the
patience I had at command.
"The boy had been carried into a house down Lambeth way, and the
doctor said he must not be moved; but the damage was not as bad, sir,
as was at first thought, and I cheered Nancy up a bit by saying he
would get all right and well. I think he will. Leaving her with the
lad, I was coming back alone, when I missed my way. The streets are
puzzling just there, and I am not familiar with them. I thought I'd
ask at a book-stall, and went towards it. A sailor was standing
outside, fingering the books and talking to somebody inside that I
couldn't see. Mr. Charles, I had got within a yard of him, when I saw
who it was--and the fright turned me sick and faint."
"You mean the sailor?"
"Yes, sir, the sailor. It was Captain Heriot, disguised. Oh, sir, what
is to be done? The boy that I have often nursed upon my knee--what
will become of him if he should be recognised?"
The very thought almost turned me sick and faint also, as Leah
expressed it. How could Tom be so foolhardy? An escaped convict,
openly walking about the streets of London!
"Did he see you, Leah?"
"No, sir; I stole away quickly; and the next turning brought me into
the right road again."
"How did he look?"
"I saw no change in him, sir. He wore a round glazed hat, and rough
blue clothes, with a large sailor collar, open at the throat. His
face was not hidden at all. It used to be clean-shaved, you know,
except the whiskers; but now the whiskers are gone, and he wears a
beard. That's all the difference I could see in him."
Could this possibly be Tom? I scarcely thought so; scarcely thought
that even he would be as reckless of consequences.
"Ah, Mr. Charles, do you suppose I could be mistaken in him?" cried
Leah, in answer to my doubt. "Indeed, sir, it was Captain Heriot. He
and the man inside--the master of the shop, I suppose--seemed talking
as if they knew one another, so Mr. Tom may have been there before.
Perhaps he is hiding in the neighbourhood."
"Hiding!" I repeated, in pain.
"Well, sir----"
"Leah! have you gone up to bed?"
The words came floating up the staircase in Watts's deep voice. Leah
hurried to the door.
"I came up to bring the master's candle," she called out, as she went
down. "If you hadn't gone to sleep, you might have heard him ring for
it."
All night I lay awake, tormented on the score of Tom Heriot. Now
looking at the worst side of things, now trying to see them at their
best, the hours dragged along, one after the other, until daybreak. In
spite of Leah's statement and her own certainty in the matter, my mind
refused to believe that the sailor she had seen could be Tom. Tom was
inconceivably daring; but not daring enough for this. He would have
put on a more complete disguise. At least, I thought so.
But if indeed it was Tom--why, then there was no hope. He would
inevitably be recaptured. And this meant I knew not what of heavier
punishment for himself; and for the rest of us further exposure,
reflected disgrace, and mental pain.
Resolving to go myself at night and reconnoitre, I turned to my day's
work. In the course of the morning a somewhat curious thing happened.
The old saying says that "In looking for one thing you find another,"
and it was exemplified in the present instance. I was searching Mr.
Brightman's small desk for a paper that I thought might be there, and,
as I suppose, accidentally touched a spring, for the lower part of the
desk suddenly loosened, and I found it had a false bottom to it.
Lifting the upper portion, I found several small deeds of importance,
letters and other papers; and lying on the top of all was a small
packet, inscribed "Lady Clavering," in Mr. Brightman's writing.
No doubt the letters she was uneasy about, and which I had hitherto
failed to find. But now, what was I to do? Give them back to her?
Well, no, I thought not. At any rate, not until I had glanced over
them. Their being in this secret division proved the importance
attaching to them.
Untying the narrow pink ribbon that held them together, there fell out
a note of Sir Ralph Clavering's, addressed to Mr. Brightman. It was
dated just before his death, and ran as follows:
I send you the letters I told you I had discovered. Read them,
and keep them safely. Should trouble arise with her after my
death, confront her with them. Use your own discretion about
showing them or not to my nephew Edmund. But should she
acquiesce in the just will I have made, and when all things are
settled on a sure foundation, then destroy the letters, unseen
by any eye save your own; I do not wish to expose her
needlessly.--R. C.
Lady Clavering had not acquiesced in the will, and she was still going
on with her threatened and most foolish action. I examined the
letters. Some were written _to_ her; not by her husband, though; some
were written _by_ her: and, take them for all in all, they were about
as damaging a series as any it was ever my fate to see.
"The senseless things these women are!" thought I. "How on earth came
she to preserve such letters as these?"
I sent a messenger for Sir Edmund Clavering. Mr. Brightman was to use
his own discretion: I hardly thought any was left to me. It was more
Sir Edmund's place to see them than mine. He came at once.
"By George!" he exclaimed, when he had read two or three of them, his
handsome face flushing, his brow knit in condemnation. "What a
despicable woman! We have the cause in our own hands now."
"Yes; she cannot attempt to carry it further."
We consulted a little as to the best means of making the truth known
to Lady Clavering--an unthankful office that would fall to me--and Sir
Edmund rose to leave.
"Keep the letters safely," he said; almost in the very words Sir Ralph
had written. "Do not bring them within a mile of her hands: copies, if
she pleases, as many as she likes. And when things are upon a safe
footing, as my uncle says, and there's no longer anything to fear from
her, then they can be destroyed."
"Yes. Of course, Sir Edmund," I continued, in some hesitation, "she
must be spared to the world. This discovery must be held sacred
between us----"
"Do you mean that as a caution?" he interrupted in surprise. "Why,
Strange, what do you take me for?"
He clasped my hand with a half-laugh, and went out. Yes, Lady
Clavering had contrived to damage herself, but it would never
transpire to her friends or her enemies.
Leah had noticed the name of the street containing the book-stall, and
when night came I put on a discarded old great-coat and slouching hat,
and set out for it. It was soon found: a narrow, well-frequented
street, leading out of the main thoroughfare, full of poor shops,
patronized by still poorer customers.
The book-stall was on the right, about half-way down the street.
Numbers of old books lay upon a board outside, lighted by a flaring,
smoking tin lamp. Inside the shop they seemed chiefly to deal in
tobacco and snuff. Every now and then the master of the shop--whose
name, according to the announcement above the shop, must be Caleb
Lee--came to the door to look about him, or to answer the questions of
some outside customer touching the books. But as yet I saw no sign of
Tom Heriot.
Opposite the shop, on the other side the way, was a dark entry; into
that entry I ensconced myself to watch.
Tired of this at last, I marched to the end of the street, crossed
over, strolled back on the other side the way, and halted at the
book-stall. There I began to turn the books about: anything to while
away the time.
"Looking for any book in particular, sir?"
I turned sharply at the question, which came from the man Lee. The
voice sounded familiar to my ear. Where had I heard it?
"You have not an old copy of the 'Vicar of Wakefield,' I
suppose?"--the work flashing into my mind by chance.
"No, sir. I had one, but it was bought last week. There's 'Fatherless
Fanny,' sir; that's a very nice book; it was thought a deal of some
years ago. And there's the 'Water Witch,' by Cooper. That's good,
too."
I remembered the voice now. It was that of Leah's mysterious visitor
of the night before, who had been curiously inquisitive about me.
Recognition came upon me with a shock, and opened up a new fear.
Taking the "Water Witch"--for which I paid fourpence--I walked on
again. Could it be possible that _Tom Heriot_ was passing himself off
for me? Why, this would be the veriest folly of all. But no; that was
altogether impossible.
Anxious and uneasy, I turned about again and again. The matter ought
to be set at rest, yet I knew not how to do it.
I entered the shop, which contained two small counters: the one
covered with papers, the other with smoking gear. Lee stood behind the
former, serving a customer, who was inquiring for last week's number
of the _Fireside Friend_. Behind the other counter sat a young girl,
pretty and modest. I turned to her.
"Will you give me a packet of bird's-eye?"
"Yes, sir," she answered in pleasant tones; and, opening a drawer,
handed me the tobacco, ready wrapped up. It would do for Watts.
Bird's-eye, I knew, was his favourite mixture.
"Thank you, sir," she said, returning me the change out of a florin.
"Anything else, sir?"
"Yes; a box of wax matches."
But the matches were not to be found, and the girl appealed to her
father.
"Wax matches," returned the man from across the shop. "Why, they are
on the shelf behind you, Betsy."
The matches were found, the girl took the money for them, and thanked
me again. All very properly and modestly. The girl was evidently as
modest and well-behaved as a girl could be.
So that was Betsy! But who was it that was courting her in my name?
One of my office clerks--or Captain Thomas Heriot?
Captain Thomas Heriot did not make his appearance, and I began to hope
that Leah had been mistaken. It grew late. I was heartily tired, and
turned to make my way home.
Why I should have looked round I cannot tell, but I did look round
just as I reached the end of the street. Looming slowly up in the
distance was a sailor, with a sailor's swaying walk, and he turned
into the shop.
I turned back also, all my pulses quickened. I did not follow him in,
for we might have betrayed ourselves. I stood outside, occupied with
the old books again, and pulled the collar of my coat well up, and my
hat well down. Not here must there be any mutual recognition.
How long did he mean to stay there? For ever? He and Lee seemed to be
at the back of the shop, talking together. I could not hear the voices
sufficiently to judge whether one of them was that of Tom Heriot.
He was coming now! Out he came, puffing at a fresh-lighted pipe, his
glazed hat at the back of his head, his face lifted to the world.
"Tell you we shall, master. Fine to-morrow? not a bit of it. Rain as
sure as a gun. This dampness in the air is a safe sign on't. Let a
sailor alone for knowing the weather."
"At sea, maybe," retorted Caleb Lee. "But I never yet knew a sailor
who wasn't wrong about the weather on shore. Good-night, sir."
"Good-night to you, master," responded the sailor.
He lounged slowly away. It was not Tom Heriot. About his build and his
fair complexion, but shorter than Tom. A real, genuine Jack-tar,
this, unmistakably. Was he the man Leah had seen? This one wore no
beard, but bushy, drooping whiskers.
"Looking for another book, sir?"
In momentary confusion, I caught up the book nearest to hand. It
proved to be "Fatherless Fanny," and I said I'd take it. While
searching for the money, I remarked that the sailor, just gone away,
had said we should have rain to-morrow.
"I don't see that he is obliged to be right, though he was so positive
over it," returned the man. "I hate a rainy day: spoils our custom.
Thankye, sir. Sixpence this time. That's right."
"Do many sailors frequent this neighbourhood?"
"Not many; we've a sprinkling of 'em sometimes. They come over here
from the Kent Road way."
Well, and what else could I ask? Nothing. And just then a voice came
from the shop.
"Father," called out Miss Betsy, "is it not time to shut up?"
"What do you ask? Getting a little deaf, sir, in my old age. Coming,
Betsy."
He turned into the shop, and I walked away for the night: hoping, ah!
how earnestly, that Leah had been mistaken.
* * * * *
"Mr. Strange, my lord."
It was the following evening. Restlessly anxious about Tom Heriot, I
betook myself to Gloucester Place as soon as dinner was over, to ask
Major Carlen whether he had learnt anything further. The disreputable
old man was in some way intimate with one or two members of the
Government. To my surprise, Sanders, Lord Level's servant, opened the
door to me, and showed me to the dining-room. Lord Level sat there
alone over his after-dinner claret.
"You look as if you hardly believed your eyes, Charles," he laughed as
he shook hands. "Sit down. Glasses, Sanders."
"And surprised I may well look to see you here, when I thought you
were in Paris," was my answer.
"We came over to-day; got here an hour ago. Blanche was very ill in
crossing and has gone to bed."
"Where is Major Carlen?"
"Oh, he is off to Jersey to see his sister, Mrs. Guy. At least, that
is what he said; but he is not famous for veracity, you know, and it
is just as likely that he may be catching the mail train at London
Bridge _en route_ for Homburg, as the Southampton train from Waterloo.
Had you been half an hour earlier, you might have had the pleasure of
assisting at his departure. I have taken this house for a month, and
paid him in advance," added Lord Level, as much as to say that the
Major was not altogether out of funds.
A short silence ensued. The thoughts of both of us were no doubt busy.
Level, his head bent, was slowly turning his wine-glass round by its
stem.
"Charles," he suddenly said, in a half-whisper, "what of Tom Heriot?"
I hardly knew how to take the question.
"I know nothing more of him," was my answer.
"Is he in London, think you? Have you heard news of him, in any way?"
Now I could not say that I had heard news: for Leah's information was
not news, if (as I hoped) she was mistaken. And I judged it better not
to speak of it to Lord Level until the question was set at rest. Why
torment him needlessly?
"I wrote you word what Major Carlen said: that Tom was one of those
who escaped. The ship was wrecked upon an uninhabited island, believed
to be that of Tristan d'Acunha. After a few days some of the convicts
contrived to steal a boat and make good their escape. Of course they
were in hope of being picked up by some homeward-bound ship, and may
already have reached England."
"Look here," said Lord Level, after a pause: "that island lies, no
doubt, in the track of ships bound to the colonies, but not in the
track of those homeward-bound. So the probability is, that if the
convicts were sighted and picked up, they would be carried further
from England, not brought back to it."
I confess that this view had not occurred to me; in fact, I knew very
little about navigation, or the courses taken by ships. It served to
strengthen my impression that Leah had been in error.
"Are you sure of that?" I asked him.
"Sure of what?" returned Lord Level.
"That the island would be out of the track of homeward-bound vessels."
"Quite sure. Homeward-bound vessels come round Cape Horn. Those bound
for the colonies go by way of the Cape of Good Hope."
"My visit here to-night was to ask Major Carlen whether he had heard
any further particulars."
"I think he heard a few more to-day," said Lord Level. "The
_Vengeance_ was wrecked, it seems, on this island. It is often sighted
by ships going to the colonies, and the captain was in hope that his
signals from the island would be seen, and some ship would bear down
to them. In vain. After the convicts--five of them, I believe--had
made their escape, he determined to send off the long-boat, in charge
of the chief officer, to the nearest Australian coast, for assistance.
On the 10th of December the boat set sail, and on Christmas Day was
picked up by the _Vernon_, which reached Melbourne the last day of the
year."
"But how do you know all these details?" I interrupted in surprise.
"They have been furnished to the Government, and Carlen was informed
of them this morning," replied Lord Level. "On the following day, the
1st of January, the ship _Lightning_ sailed from Melbourne for
England; she was furnished with a full account of the wreck of the
_Vengeance_ and what succeeded to it. The _Lightning_ made a good
passage home, and on her arrival laid her reports before the
Government. That's how it is."
"And what of the escaped convicts?"
"Nothing is known of them. The probability is that they were picked up
by an outward-bound ship and landed in one of the colonies. If not,
they must have perished at sea."
"And if they were so picked up and landed, I suppose they would have
reached England by this time?"
"Certainly--seeing that the _Lightning_ has arrived. And the convicts
had some days' start of the long-boat. I hope Tom Heriot will not make
his way here!" fervently spoke Lord Level. "The consequences would
three-parts kill my wife. No chance of keeping it from her in such a
hullabaloo as would attend his recapture."
"I cannot think how you have managed to keep it from her as it is."
"Well, I have been watchful and cautious--and we have not mixed much
with the gossiping English. What! are you going, Charles?"
"Yes, I have an engagement," I answered, as we both rose. "Good-night.
Give my love to Blanche. Tell her that Charley will see her to-morrow
if he can squeeze out a minute's leisure for it."
Taking up the old coat I had left in the passage, I went out with it
on my arm, hailed a cab that was crossing Portman Square and was
driven to Lambeth. There I recommenced my watch upon the book-stall
and the street containing it, not, however, disclosing myself to Lee
that night. But nothing was to be seen of Tom Heriot.