"I sat by his mother one midsummer day,
And she looked me through and through
As I spoke of her lad who was far away,
For she guessed that I loved him too!"
Maggie's Secret.
"Lizzie, pull that pillow more under my head, will you, dear? I think,
too, my feet are getting cold; I wish you would throw that shawl over
me."
The speaker was our old acquaintance the dowager; but wonderfully
changed both in appearance and voice since we last saw and heard her;
and the young lady addressed in that affectionate and trusting manner
was our own little Lizzie, the young incumbent's sister, the beloved of
Master Tom.
Fancy her being now on such terms of intimacy with Tom's mother! But it
is a fact. _Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis_: this is the age
of miracles, and we must not be surprised at anything that happens in
our daily life when so many startling changes in science and art are
worked out every day in the world around us.
I don't know how the first advance was made from the parsonage to The
Poplars, but the worthy old doctor managed it all. That man, I venture
to say, sir, or madam, who may be reading these lines, was most
unhesitatingly one whom we used to term in schoolboy phraseology, a
trump. He was a trump most certainly, even although all the other suits
at cards be of fair and equable measure! A trump of trumps, a _rara
avis_, even amongst a horde of good fellows, and I affectionate him
much, as our foreign friends put it.
The doctor had already told Miss Lizzie that he would be glad to make
use of her services as soon as the old lady was a little more sensible,
and Lizzie had gladly consented to be made use of when the proper time
should arrive.
Doctor Jolly, from the experiences of the past, when he had so
satisfactorily played the go-between in Tom and Lizzie's young loves,
was pretty well aware of the state of things between those two young
persons. His own nature being an ardent one, and having often--to Deb's
intense misgivings and alarm--cultivated the tender passion himself, he
was quite competent to sympathise with all lovers whose course of true
love might not, through the stern opposition of unfeeling parents and
worldly relations, run smooth. He could do this quite apart from his
good nature, which would have forced him to befriend any one in trouble.
But when he naturally liked a sighing lover like Master Tom, and had
such a paternal interest in him, and when Miss Lizzie--the object
beloved--was one of his own especial pets, one cannot wonder that the
doctor threw himself into the breach with all the ardour of his ardent
nature and good nature combined. He determined that he would befriend
this young couple to the best of his ability. Although Fate had
unkindly nipped all his little _affaires du coeur_ in the bud, and
destroyed all his tender Platonisms, he would have the satisfaction, at
least, of seeing others happy.
Accordingly, our friend Aesculapius having played go-between,
subsequently became the trusted confidant to both the lovers. Tom,
before his departure for the land of the Queen of Sheba's descendants,
had breathed out his heartburnings, his rage, his morbid determination,
sighing furiously all the while, like Shakespeare's typical furnace; and
after Tom's Hegira, Lizzie, with many little tender protestations and
pearly sacrifices, had also unfolded her troubles to him. It was not
for a long time, however, that Lizzie did this--not until the little
heart had been wrung by keeping its trouble to itself for a very long,
long time; but she need not have held back her confidence from the
doctor--he knew all about it, and even if Tom had not told him of the
ruthless separation which Fate had brought about, he could have easily
guessed it from Andromeda's martyr-like face.
The dowager's illness now enabled Doctor Jolly to befriend Lizzie, and
consequently Tom also, much more efficiently than he might otherwise
have been able to do.
Putting aside the necessity which he thought existed for establishing
the _entente cordiale_ between Lizzie and the mother of her adored, the
good doctor was full of sympathy--in which he forgot all her former bad
temper and malevolence towards him--for the poor old woman was lying
grievously ill--sick unto death nearly, at 1 The Poplars. She was so
ill, so changed, so friendless and deserted, only tended by strangers
and hired servants, that Doctor Jolly thought that the best thing for
her in common charity was to get some one to come and see her, and
minister, who would be actuated in so doing by a higher and more of a
brotherly-kindness principle than that of mere wage. With this idea
revolving strongly in his head, the doctor could think of no one better
suited for the post than Lizzie. By employing her, he would be able to
achieve two purposes at once--kill two birds with one stone. Tom's
lady-love was willing and happy enough at the thought; the only thing
that remained was to gain the old dowager's consent for the arrangement,
and this Doctor Jolly found much more easily done than he had thought
possible.
For a long time the old lady had remained speechless, and of course
nothing could be done about it then. She was in such a state that the
mere sight of a new face might have affected her fatally, much less the
sight of a face which could be connected in her mind, if she could
think, with former times and her quarrel with her son. But, by-and-bye,
as the dowager became more sensible and was able to express her wishes
by writing on a slate, and afterwards to speak when she got back her
voice--what a changed voice it was!--the doctor mooted the matter.
He suggested that she should have some one to sit and read with her for
company's sake, as he told her: it was bad for her to be alone with only
a servant, and it would delay her recovery if she were not roused out of
herself.
She had at first given a vehement veto against the suggestion. She
thought the doctor was going to prepare Miss Kingscott's society for
her, remembering Aesculapius's old partiality in that quarter. But when
he indignantly denied this, and told her he would not propose her
company for any decent person--the doctor had learnt the governess's
treachery from Mr Trump--the old lady accepted very agreeably the offer
of Lizzie Pringle's society. She thought it quite a satisfactory
substitute for the old lady whom she had dreaded the doctor was going to
invite to wait on her.
Doctor Jolly took Mrs Hartshorne at her word, and sent Lizzie up the
very same afternoon that he got permission, for fear that the dowager
might withdraw the same. He did not doubt that the moment the old lady
knew Lizzie she would take to her, and then the rest lay in Lizzie's own
hands.
Aesculapius was right. Within a week, the tender graces, and kindness,
and soft ways of the young girl, had made way in the heart of the old
woman which you would have never suspected, and she afterwards could
hardly bear her out of her sight.
Lizzie and the dowager were on the most affectionate footing. She,
winning, ministering like an angel of mercy: the old lady accepting all
her kindness, not saying much in words, but feeling in her heart an
unknown love towards this little girl, who was winding herself into her
affections in spite of herself.
And Lizzie, you may be sure, was happy--happy at doing good--happy at
ministering to affliction; above all, happy at helping Tom's mother.
Thus did Andromeda's grief lessen: thus was she able to bear all the
snapping and snarling of the old campaigner at home. This was her
source of balm, which you might never have suspected.
It was a strange association between the two: between the dowager of
former days, with her harsh voice and querulous temper, and the gentle
little girl who had won Tom's love. There never would have been, one
would think, any sympathy or companionship; but the dowager was very
much altered now.
"Wonders will never cease," says the proverb; and Solomon adds, that
"there is nothing new under the sun." Consequently putting that and
that together, as the old folks say, we ought not to be surprised at
this unexpected _rapport_ between Tom's mother and Lizzie.
Far more wonderful than that wonderful recovery of reason poor Susan
Hartshorne, under Markworth's superintending care, was this change in
the dowager, and the amelioration in her temper. But sickness and
mental anxiety work strange changes! She _was_ changed!
When the old lady's recollection came back, she grieved very much over
the death of her daughter, and seemed to accuse herself on that account.
She told Lizzie that if she had not been so harsh and unlike a mother
to Susan, all the past might never have happened. Lizzie tried to
soothe her self-reproaches somewhat ineffectually, but when Dr Jolly
combatted the old lady's arguments, and had a long explanation with her,
the dowager seemed much relieved, although she would express fervent
hopes of seeing her daughter again--in heaven, and she did not any
longer fret so much about Susan as she had done.
The old lady's thoughts and conversation after this turned on her dear
Tom principally.
Mrs Hartshorne was a very shrewd old lady, and as she got better her
old shrewdness returned.
She had not by any means forgotten the name of Miss Lizzie Pringle. She
remembered very well Tom's explanation with reference to that young lady
and his crude ideas of wishing to get married; after a time she startled
Lizzie nearly out of her seven little senses, by abruptly mentioning the
subject, asking her what arrangement she had come to with Tom, and if
they were still engaged.
Lizzie told her "no," indignantly: she would enter into no engagement
with anyone whose family objected to her.
The dowager was very much pleased at her pride in not holding Tom to his
word when she had related the affair, and she probed Lizzie's heart
further by enquiring whether she loved Tom still.
She did not care for him, if it would harm his prospects that is, and--
and--The dowager looked very kind and cheerful and not stern at all, and
all Lizzie's love for the graceless Tom who had abandoned her in his
senseless anger for her strict regard for duty, was poured out again
into very sympathising ears, the dowager told her to cheer up--and "all
would yet be well."
After this many were the dialogues between the old lady and the young
girl about the absent warrior, and suggestions made about the probable
time of his return, and surmises--on the older lady's part--the junior
only blushed and said nothing--as to what would happen when Tom did come
back.
The young man's letters home to his mother were read out by Miss Lizzie.
She took no interest in them at all, of course; but the old lady's
sight being somewhat defective and Tom's calligraphy none of the
clearest, it was absolutely necessary that the old lady's companion
should read them out for her. You may be quite certain that Lizzie did
not peruse them afterwards quietly to herself, and enter with deep
interest into all the young man's deeds and doings. How the army was
getting on satisfactorily towards Magdala: how splendid the scenery was:
how he had had a monkey hunt, and had not caught one; and what fine
figures the Abyssinian girls had. Of course Miss Lizzie did not toss
her head at this, and say "Well, to be sure, sir; I wonder what next!"
Whether she did or did not, Master Tom's doings seemed to have great
interest for the two. When they were talking about him, the old lady
would recount with a maternal pride, which from a former knowledge of
her character you might never have dreamt she possessed, incidents
connected with the childhood of the warrior, to which Lizzie would
listen with spell-bound attention.
The dowager would relate how gentle Tom was when teething; how
wonderfully he had borne that infantile malady, the measles; what
marvellous escape he had had from breaking his neck when he tumbled down
the back staircase. And then she would glide on to later experiences,
and tell how well Tom got on at school; and how the old colonel of his
regiment liked him, as indeed all did with whom the Saxon youngster came
in contact.
Lizzie would drink in all this with greedy ears; and never tire of
hearing of the deeds and doings of this most extraordinary young man.
So the time passed on, and Lizzie became even more domesticated at The
Poplars than she was at the parsonage.
Tom's mother got to love her; and the young incumbent's sister, much as
she loved her brother, took a deeper interest in the big house and its
belongings than she did in Herbert Pringle's mansion.
Thus while the latter was being pecked _ad libitum_ by the campaigner,
Lizzie generally "made herself scarce," and went up to The Poplars to
talk about Tom--the never wearisome subject--with the old dowager.
The campaigner's rule might be rigid enough, but Lizzie laughed it to
scorn. Instead of bandying words with the veteran, our little friend
abandoned the field to her completely, and left her "alone in her
glory."
She was unhappy no longer. There was balm in Gilead. Jupiter _tonans_
was propitious: the doctor's plans successful: the dowager gained over
to Lizzie's cause: the field fought: the battle won.
Who would have thought of the "Fiddle-de-dee"-asserting-dowager ever
being in Lizzie's favour?
The course of true love looked, for a wonder, as if it were going for
once to run smooth. Miracles certainly will never cease: this is the
age of them!
Volume 3, Chapter XII.
"TOO LATE! TOO LATE!"
Markworth still sat in the same position in the untidy, ill-furnished
private room at the sponging-house after the governess, his enemy, had
left him--with his face hidden between his hands and his head bent down,
the summer sun still streaming down on him, for the sun shines for rich
and poor alike: for those in captivity, and for those that are free!
Clara Kingscott, meanwhile, directed her steps once more to the offices
of Mr Trump and his partner, in Bedford Row. She did not dread a
refusal this time: she did not hold back for fear of being denied
admission: she had news--news! to communicate now, and they must see
her!
"Mr Trump was out," said one of the clerks.
Miss Kingscott was in no hurry--although she was out of breath with the
haste she had made from the hotel _restante_ of Abednego--she "would
wait until Mr Trump came in."
That would never do, thought the clerk; his master wouldn't be pleased
to find his _bete noir_ seated there in his outer office, ready to
pounce upon him when he made his appearance. So fearful of a probable
blowing up, the embryo Sheepskin tried again.
"Mr Trump was busy; he could not see anyone to-day."
Miss Kingscott, however, was invincible--"she would wait until the
lawyer was disengaged," she said, calmly taking a seat unbidden.
Worse and worse for Sheepskin, who was in an agony of terror as to what
to do. In the midst of the excitement enters Mr Trump himself from his
inner sanctum, accompanied by Doctor Jolly.
"Bless my soul, Miss Kingscott!" exclaimed the latter; "who would have
thought of seeing you here." But the doctor seemed embarrassed; he did
not offer his broad palm to the governess as he would have done in the
old days at The Poplars; and his ruddy countenance was suffused with a
deeper shade of crimson than was really habitual. Mr Trump advanced,
however, to Miss Kingscott, and spoke out curtly in his cold, business
voice.
"What do you want here, madam? You have no business with me! and I told
my clerks to say I was not in whenever you came here!" glaring round at
the solitary embryo sheepskin, who quaked in his shoes; the other grisly
clerk, whose hair had the semblance of the fretful porcupine, was not
there--probably he was at lunch, and would "return in ten minutes," as
they all say.
Miss Kingscott was not staggered by the lawyer's facer; she was far too
much wrapt up in her purpose to take notice of any rebuff, as she had
had many already. She went in straight to her point, gasping with
excitement as she spoke.
"He's found! He's found!" she exclaimed.
"Who's found? What do you mean, madam?" said Mr Trump, who, thinking
the governess was going to make a dash at him, cautiously retired behind
the doctor: the latter uttering his usual, "God bless my soul!" was
staring at his quondam flame in astonishment.
"He's caught at last! Caught at last!" continued the governess
hysterically, waving her arms frantically all the while.
"Who's found? Who's caught at last? Really, I do not comprehend you,
madam; what is it to me whom you find or catch?"
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated the doctor, hopelessly bewildered.
"Fool!" exclaimed Miss Kingscott, in cutting bitterness--so sharp and
short was her tone, that the word sounded like a pistol-shot. "Fool!
Markworth is caught at last! Caught at last, do you hear? And I have
caught him!"
Mr Trump and the doctor stared at one another in blank surprise; the
former recovered himself first.
"Whew!" he whistled, between his closed teeth. "Oh, that's it, is it!
Well, and supposing he is caught, and that you have caught him, what is
that to me?"
It was the governess's turn to be now surprised; she stared at Mr Trump
in bewilderment.
"Why--I thought--what do you mean?" she stammered.
"I mean what I say, madam. What is it to me?" said the lawyer, coolly.
"Bless my soul!" still ejaculated the doctor, in that stage of
astonishment where one is described as "looking nine ways for Sunday."
Miss Kingscott now recovered herself.
"You must be mad, I think," she said, in her cold, grating voice. "Why,
it is everything to you, as it is to me! Markworth is captured, do you
hear? He is now arrested for debt; but the charge of murder has to be
brought against him, and it is your place to accuse him. I have just
left him," she went on hurriedly, dashing out her short, sharp
sentences. "He knows that he can expect no mercy from me, or anyone
else! The law must now do its part! A warrant must be at once
obtained! If you will not come forward and do your duty, I will! The
blood of Susan Hartshorne cries out aloud for vengeance!"
"Bless my soul!" said the doctor, aghast at the change in the bashful,
timid governess of his former acquaintance, and staring with widening
eyes at the stern Medea before him. "Bless my soul! Trump, why she
does not know!"
"Whew!" whistled the lawyer again. "And you have told him this?" he
inquired aloud of Miss Kingscott. "A fiend of a woman!" he muttered,
aside to the doctor.
"Of course I have!" she exclaimed, indignantly. "Who had a better right
than I to beard him at last? Have I not waited long enough, and tracked
him all these months to have only that satisfaction? But it is come at
last! I shall see him hanged, and then I shall be happy; my vengeance
will be complete!"
"God bless my soul!" murmured the doctor, in a tone of warm
congratulation to himself. "Bless my soul--that she did not catch _me_!
Why, she's a regular devil! Worse than twenty dowagers!"
The lawyer, meanwhile, was interrogating Miss Kingscott calmly, without
apparently noticing her excitement. He had a wonderful sedative
presently wherewith to cool this excitement down.
"And where is Markworth now?" he asked.
"He is where I've just left him, I believe. He was arrested this
morning for a debt he owed to a Jew named Solomonson, who had advanced
him money for carrying on that suit. He is locked up in a place
somewhere in Chancery lane."
"Oh! yes; I know," said Mr Trump, interrupting her; "Abednego's, is it
not?"
"Yes, that's the name," answered the governess.
"Hum-m!" ejaculated Mr Trump, musingly. "And you are going to bring
this charge of murder against him, eh?"
"I am!" she answered, sternly.
"Well, Miss Kingscott, if you will wait a short time, I will go with
you."
"I've waited long enough," she said, impatiently. "Cannot you come
now?"
"No, I have some matters to settle first; but, I will not delay; and,
besides, I must see Markworth himself first, before anything can be
done."
"See Markworth! What do you want to see him for?" she exclaimed, in
surprise. "Why I have seen him there already!"
"That's my business," Mr Trump said, curtly; "but it will be better for
you if you leave it in my hands. Will you meet me in half-an-hour at
Abednego's place in Chancery lane?"
"I suppose I must," said the governess, after hesitating a moment, for I
"cannot act very well without you. But you will be certain to be there,
won't you?"
"I always keep my word," answered the lawyer, sententiously; "I will be
there in half-an-hour."
"Very well," said the governess; and she went to the appointed place and
passed the time in restlessly walking up and down the pavement in front
of the sponging-house, until Mr Trump should come.
At the time appointed--it was now late in the afternoon, and legal hours
were nearly over--as punctual as clockwork, Mrs Hartshorne's lawyer
made his appearance. He was accompanied by Doctor Jolly and a lady
dressed in deep black, with her face closely veiled.
"Who is she?" asked the governess, pointing to this lady, who leant on
the doctor's arm, and was trembling, as Miss Kingscott could see,
although she could not distinguish her face. "Who is she? No stranger
has any business with him or me!"
"She has a right to be here," answered the lawyer, as he rang the bell
at the door of the sponging-house; "you will soon know all."
Miss Kingscott gazed searchingly at the stranger, and gave a start of
half-amazement, half-terror; but the lawyer did not give her time to say
anything. He asked for Markworth on the door being opened, and the
Cerberus told him that he was upstairs in the private room, where he had
given orders not to be disturbed.
Mr Trump said he was his lawyer. Cerberus knew his vocation very well,
for Mr Trump had paid many visits to clients in Abednego's retirement
before--and he was admitted after a little parley at the door,
facilitated by the application of palm oil.
"He's upstairs on the second floor, the door right fronting you,"
shouted the man, after them. "You'll be sure to find him at home," he
added, with a chuckle at his own joke.
The lawyer led the way up the dirty staircase, followed by Miss
Kingscott: while the Doctor and the strange lady were close behind.
Arrived at the door of the room in which Markworth was, Mr Trump
knocked in vain for some time. He at length turned, the handle, and the
four visitors walked in unbidden.
Markworth was in the corner of the room: they could all see him.
The lawyer called out to him, but got no answer: he went up to him.
The man was dead!
Markworth was sitting in the same place where the governess had left him
in his misery. His bowed head lay between his clasped hands: the sun
had gone down now, and no longer shone upon him with its golden gleams:
his sun also had sunk to rest!
The Doctor went forward and examined him. He had been dead more than an
hour he said: cause--heart disease, probably brought on by strong
excitement, or a sudden shock.
All were startled at this unexpected appearance of pale death; even his
enemy and Nemesis relented as she gazed on the lifeless mask of him whom
she had so ruthlessly pursued, and drew back in horror at what she had
done.
But the stranger darted forward, and threw herself with a burst of grief
on the motionless form of the dead man: sorrow and sympathy, friendship
or hate, could no longer affect him now!
As she did so, the stranger threw aside her veil: and the face of the
mourner was the face of Susan Hartshorne, whom the dead man had been
accused of having murdered.
"Poor thing! poor thing!" murmured the doctor, as he turned away his
head and walked towards the window to conceal his emotion. "Bless my
soul! It's a sad pity--a sad pity! But it is better as it is."
Volume 3, Chapter XIII.