Just about the time when the curate of St. Catherine Cross' Church, in
London, was asking Markworth whether he would take this woman, M. or N.,
to be his wedded wife, the dowager and the inhabitants of The Poplars
awoke to the certainty that Susan had really gone off somewhere without
leaving a trace behind.
She had not come to breakfast; she had not been seen about the premises
or in the garden; she had not come into the house or slept in her bed
all night; where on earth could she be? It was time, indeed, that some
search or enquiry should be instituted.
No time was to be lost!
The old dowager was fearfully excited on being made certain of Susan's
disappearance.
She would not believe it at first; and, saying "It's all stuff and
nonsense, the girl's hidden somewhere, I know," was not convinced until
she had herself in person searched, every nook and cranny in the old
house from top to bottom.
It was the first time that she had really showed any anxiety about the
girl, for the old woman was very much troubled indeed. She was shrewd
and business-like as usual, however, in her enquiries, and first
examined everybody in the house before carrying the search further.
Miss Kingscott, the governess, said she had not seen her since the
middle of the previous day, and she had supposed at first that she had
gone out to walk with Mr Markworth. She had found out afterwards,
however, that that gentleman had driven off early along with "poor Mr
Thomas," she believed, towards the station, and so her pupil could not
have gone to walk with him.
Miss Kingscott afterwards informed Mrs Hartshorne that she missed out
of her wardrobe a black silk dress, and a shawl and bonnet. She
supposed Susan had taken those with her, as her own walking things had
been left behind in her, Miss Kingscott's, room. The old lady said
snappishly that "she did not know what right she, the governess, had to
suppose anything of the sort;" but she kept the information in her mind
nevertheless.
The old servant, Martha, said she had not seen Miss Susan at all, as
"she had too much work of her own in the kitchen for her to do, as was a
disgrace for only one servant in sich a large 'ouse as she never see,
and it were a burnin' shame it were a workin' one pore old woman worse
nor any black nigger slave as ever was, that it were:" so no information
was obtained from her.
George, on being summoned in to speak to the "old un," as he called the
dowager, said that he had been "at work all t'day a diggin on
t'petatus," and he had seen "no leetel miss" about the garden, but he
"thort he seed un when he wor a goin' to his dinner, jist arter twelve,
awalkin' in the far lot across t'fields with that gentelmun froom
Lunnon, but he warn't shoor."
The old lady called him "an ass and a grinning baboon" for his pains,
and told him "get out and go to your work, man!" But George was right,
for he had seen them as he said, when on his way back to the house after
his visit to the "Jolly Spades," although his vision was then somewhat
hazy, and his intellects more obtuse than usual from the large potations
of home-brewed he had taken at such an early hour of the day--thanks to
Miss Kingscott's liberality to him. The dowager was perplexed, but her
cool, calculating temperament was soon at work.
She determined to send at once to her lawyers in London, and calling in
the aid of the police to track the fugitive.
Doctor Jolly, too, who came in at this moment to see after Tom--rather
earlier than usual for his professional call, but he was anxious about
his patient--warmly applauded the dowager's resolve.
He, of course, was also startled at the news that Susan had not been
heard of. "Bless my soul!" he said, when all the facts and enquiries
that had been made were explained to him. "Bless my soul! It's very
strange, very strange, indeed. She could not have stopped anywhere in
the neighbourhood, or you would have heard of her before. She must have
gone off to some distance. Did she have any money with her?"
"Oh, no!" said Miss Kingscott, to whom he had addressed himself.
"Fool!" spoke out sharply the dowager.
"Why, is it likely that I would give any of my hard-earned money to an
idiot to throw away?"
The doctor confessed the improbability of Mrs Hartshorne's disposing of
her surplus funds in the manner suggested, although he was somewhat
indignant at the strong epithet applied to himself: he was, however, too
much interested on Susan's behalf to cavil now about words with the old
lady.
"Have you asked about her in the village and at the station?" he said,
after reflecting a minute or two.
"What is the use of that?" replied the dowager; "all the people know
about her at Hartwood, and would have stopped her. But you can ask
yourself presently, if you don't mind going down there."
The doctor said he would; and the plan of the dowager, he thought,
would, in the meantime, be the best one to pursue.
"Yes," said Mrs Hartshorne; "I shall send up to Mr Trump, in London,
at once, and put the matter in his hands. He is a lawyer, and he will
know what is best for us to do. I can't say I'm very fond of the girl,"
observed the dowager, drily, to which Doctor Jolly gave a decidedly
affirmative nod; "but I would not like her to come to any harm. But who
shall I send? Can you go?"
"Bless my soul!" replied Doctor Jolly. "I would go at once, but there's
poor Tom; I can't leave him, for he's in a very ticklish state."
"True--true; poor Thomas! It's a pretty kettle of fish, all this
happening just now."
"Let me go, ma'am," said Miss Kingscott, quietly.
"You!" snapped out the old lady. "What's the good of a girl like you
going? What can you do?"
"I'm sure a girl can be as good a messenger as anyone else, and I can go
at once," answered the governess, calmly; "indeed I'm so interested in
my poor pupil, that I should like to do something towards finding her."
"Humph!" grunted the dowager, thinking it over.
"Certainly," put in the doctor; "certainly, madam. Bless my soul! I
should like to know why not?"
The thing was agreed to after some further conversation, and Miss
Kingscott, charged with a curt epistle from the dowager, and a supply of
money from the doctor's own purse--the old lady had not hinted at
producing any, and did not advance any demurrer to his so doing--for
paying her expenses on the road, was directed to go to Hartwood Station.
She was to ask there whether they had seen Susan, and if she heard no
intelligence, she was to proceed direct to London; there she was to call
on the lawyers without losing time, explain the whole matter to Mr
Trump, and tell him to come down at once--indeed, she was to bring him
down with her if she could.
The governess obeyed her instructions to the letter, and acted all
through as if she was as ignorant about Susan's disappearance and her
movements as she had professed to be.
She asked about Susan in the village, in order that if any enquiries
were made she could substantiate her statement of ignorance. Of course,
nobody had heard there of the missing girl, as she very well knew would
be the case. She then went on up to London by the next train, and
proceeding at once to the offices to which she was directed, she handed
the old lady's letter to the senior partner.
In the meantime, Doctor Jolly was attending to poor Tom's wounds; the
wounded hero had passed a very bad night, and was feverish and
excitable.
The doctor, who had his suspicions about Markworth, asked one or two
guarded questions of Tom as to the whereabouts of his friend. He had
been surprised at not seeing the exquisite at Lady Inskip's pic-nic:
with his downright common sense, aided by his dislike and suspicions of
Markworth, he thought that there must be some connection at first
between Susan's disappearance and the absence of the other.
Tom's answers to his questions, however, fairly puzzled him, and the
doctor was thrown off the scent entirely.
Tom said, in reply to one of the doctor's casual enquiries, that he had
driven Markworth over to Hartwood Station himself before he had gone on
to the pic-nic. That his friend had been suddenly summoned up to town
the previous morning, and that he expected him back very shortly, as he
said he might not be detained long; although Tom added, "he had taken
his traps with him."
"Oh, he has? has he!" answered the doctor. "Well, I daresay we'll have
him down soon again though, and then you will be able to get about again
with him."
He cheered up Tom, who was very crestfallen and hippish with the pain he
had undergone, and the thoughts of being kept a prisoner in bed whilst
he so much wished, particularly now on account of Lizzie, to be able to
move about.
"Bless my soul!" said the old fellow, cheerfully, as he went out, "why,
you will be right again in a jiffey. We have got all that beastly shot
out of you, and the place is healing beautifully. I tell you what I
will do, too, Master Tom," he added, nodding his head knowingly, with a
twinkling of his kind grey eyes--"I'll tell a certain little girl how we
are getting on; I know she will feel interested!"
"Thank you, doctor; you're a trump, by Jove!" said Tom, gladly, "and
give her my compliments."
"Hang your compliments, you young rascal; I'll give you her love when I
come back!" and the doctor laughed himself with a cheery ho! ho! ho! out
of the room, down the staircase, to the dining-room below, where Mrs
Hartshorne--the old lady looking quite broken already from the anxiety
she had gone through--was waiting to hear his report about Tom.
They had decided not to tell him yet about Susan in his present state--
not, at all events, until the lawyer came down.
The doctor said Tom was doing very well, although excitement would be
bad for him; and then went out to pay some calls around, promising to
call back in a few hours' time.
You may be sure he did not forget, with his kind heart, to call round at
the Pringles, where he found little Lizzie listening anxiously for his
approach, for he had promised her last night to come and give the news
about Tom.
She eagerly thanked him for coming and for his good news, and coyly gave
the doctor permission to take back her love to Tom: of course, she was
as much surprised as the doctor was to hear of Susan's disappearance,
and her sympathies were quite aroused when he told her how broken the
old lady seemed under the double trouble she was suffering under.
Lizzie immediately offered to go up and see her, not knowing her general
disposition so well as our friend Aesculapius; but he told her that it
would be useless, and that nothing could be done until the lawyer and
the detective arrived from London. Lizzie was doubly anxious about
Susan for Tom's sake: it is wonderful the interest that young ladies
take in the sisters and other relatives of young gentlemen for whom they
may entertain regard! But Lizzie could do nothing, and was even more
useless in the juncture than the dowager had at first supposed the
governess to be when she offered to make herself useful.
After paying his round of calls, the doctor returned to The Poplars,
some three hours or more from the time of his setting out: and he and
the dowager then sat down in sympathy and mutual anxiety together in the
parlour, for the first time in their respective lives, to wait for the
return of Miss Kingscott from her mission to London.
Thus the hours passed by, the day after Susan Hartshorne's elopement.
Volume 2, Chapter IV.