MR. PELHAM MAKES HIS APPEARANCE ONCE MORE.
MY DEAR LOVE,--My note written last night was short, because I had
scarcely anything to say, and I postponed what I had to tell until
to-night. Mrs. Holdfast did not detain Fanny long yesterday. She asked
but one question, which, if the little girl had not been prepared
to answer, would have removed Fanny from the game, and increased
the difficulties of our task. In the story Fanny invented for the
mystification of Mrs. Holdfast I saw one great danger. Mrs. Holdfast is
not playing alone; there is a master mind behind her. Who that master
mind is it was necessary for me to discover, and I have made the
discovery. I shall not be surprised if, in the letter I shall write to
you to-morrow night I am able to tell you something of the very greatest
moment.
Fanny's danger was this: She had told a clever story; had invented a
sister, and had furnished a tolerably fair excuse for forcing herself
upon a lady of Mrs. Holdfast's position. But she had spoken of herself
and her sister living in lodgings in London. If there is one thing Mrs.
Holdfast desires at present to avoid it is the slightest chance of
anything coming before the public which would tend to prove that she and
Grace who destroyed Sydney Campbell are one and the same person. Perhaps
the only person who, in an indirect way, is aware of this fact (that is,
to Mrs. Holdfast's knowledge) is Fanny. Here was a risk; and between
Fanny's first and second visit to Mrs. Holdfast, the suggestion had in
some way arisen that the little girl might have been instructed in her
part by an unseen enemy. It was necessary, therefore, to test the truth
of Fanny's story, and there was only one point which could be seized
upon. In what street in London, in what house, did Fanny and her sister
live before the sister ran away? This occurred to my sharp mind before
it had been suggested to Mrs. Holdfast, and I determined to manufacture
evidence. I enlisted Mrs. Preedy on my side. I bought her a new gown,
a cloak, and a hat, and I made her a present of them. Then, having
entirely won her heart--she told me that she looked upon me as a
daughter--I cautiously imparted to her what I wanted her to do for me.
It appeared that nothing was easier. For a few shillings a friend of
Mrs. Preedy, living half a mile from Great Porter Square, undertook,
in case a lady called to ask there, to give certain answers to certain
questions about two lodgers, one called Nelly and the other Dot. The
lesson was a simple one, and was easily learned. Armed with the address,
Fanny went to Mrs. Holdfast, according to appointment. I may inform you
that I am placing fuller reliance than ever upon little Fanny, and that
I have related to her a great deal of Grace's life in Oxford, which, in
case of need, she can turn to useful account. As I anticipated, Mrs.
Holdfast asked Fanny in what house she and her sister lived in London.
Without hesitation, Fanny gave the address of Mrs. Preedy's friend, and
Mrs. Holdfast dismissed her, desiring her to call again on the following
day--this morning. I ascertained to-day that Mrs. Holdfast called at the
address, and received the answers prepared for her.
I must tell you what Mrs. Preedy said to me during the evening.
"My dear, you are not what you pretend to be."
I gave her a spirited answer, knowing by this time how to manage her.
"You are a clever woman," I replied, looking at her admiringly; "you
have guessed my secret; not one in a thousand would have done it. I am
_not_ a servant-of-all-work, and I came here to be out of the way, let
me say, of my young man. Well now, there's no harm in that, is there?"
"Not a bit of harm," she said. "But what is it all about?"
"I can't tell you just now," I said. "You may be certain of one thing.
If things go on as they've been going on lately, you will be none the
worse off for it. If I don't go into partnership with you, I shall make
you a very handsome present, and I shan't ask you for any wages. I have
broken a lot of things since I've been here, but I've bought new ones in
their place. Mrs. Preedy, you leave everything to me, and I will show
you that Becky can be grateful."
"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Preedy, "so long as there's no harm done,
I don't mind. You're a good sort, and I dare say have seen a lot of
trouble. So have I. Women are born to be imposed upon."
"Does our young man lodger pay his rent regularly?" I asked, pretending
to know nothing.
"My dear," said Mrs. Preedy, sadly, "since he has lived here I haven't
seen the colour of his money."
"Now," I said, smiling, "suppose I pay it for him. Not for his sake--for
yours. I'm not sweet on him, though he pretends to be on me. It's a
shame that you should be taken in by a foreign gentleman like him--you
can't afford it."
I found out how many weeks' rent he owed, and I paid it. I don't think
anything is wanting to complete the conquest of my mistress's heart. You
see I am spending some of the money you gave me; I couldn't get along
without it.
To-day Mrs. Holdfast received Fanny very graciously, called her a nice
little thing, said she was growing quite fond of her, and was almost
inclined to take her into the house to live with her.
"Oh, how I wish you would!" cried Fanny.
However, it appears that at present Mrs. Holdfast, even if she is in
earnest, cannot take Fanny into her house. If it _were_ done Fanny would
find a way to communicate with me, and tell me all that is going on.
Mrs. Holdfast expressed great curiosity about Fanny's sister, and asked
the child whether Nelly did not give her an address to write to.
"O, yes," said Fanny, prepared for any emergency; "Nelly's gone to
Paris. She said I might write to her at the post-office there."
What does Mrs. Holdfast do but write a letter to Fanny's sister, and
address it to the Poste Restante, Paris. She did not give the letter to
Fanny to post. What is in the letter? Nothing important, perhaps, but
written in the endeavour to more completely verify the truth of Fanny's
story. Or perhaps Mrs. Holdfast really knew some actresses in the
country, and is anxious to ascertain if Nelly is one of her old
acquaintances.
Now I will tell you something more important.
"You are a shrewd little thing," said Mrs. Holdfast to Fanny; "I have a
good mind, although I can't let you sleep in the house, to take you into
my service."
"O, do, ma'am, do!" cried Fanny.
"Well, I'll try you. But mind--you must keep my secrets. Do you know any
person in London besides me?"
"Not a blessed soul!" replied Fanny. "And I'll keep your secrets--you
try me. O, I don't believe there's a kinder lady in the world than you
are!"
"She's an artful one," said Fanny to me, as she gave me the particulars
of this conversation, "but I'm an artfuller!"
Mrs. Holdfast is so extraordinarily vain that even this deserted child's
praise was agreeable to her.
"Be true to me," said Mrs. Holdfast, "and I'll make a lady of you. Are
you fond of babies?"
To which Fanny replied that she doted on them. Mrs. Holdfast rang a
bell, and desired the maid who answered it to take Fanny into the
nursery.
"I'll come up to you presently," said Mrs. Holdfast.
Fanny went into the nursery, where she saw what she describes as the
loveliest baby in the world, all dressed in laces and silks, "more like
a beautiful wax doll," said Fanny, "than anything else." It was Mrs.
Holdfast's baby, the maid told Fanny, and her mistress doted on it.
"I've seen a good many babies and a good many mothers," said the maid,
"but I never saw a mother as fond of a baby as Mrs. Holdfast is of
hers."
Fanny's account agrees with the maid's words. When Mrs. Holdfast came
into the nursery, and took her baby, and sat in a rocking chair, singing
to the child, Fanny said it was very hard to believe that a woman like
that could do anything wrong. If Fanny were not truthful and faithful to
me, and would rather have her tongue cut out than deceive me, I should
receive her version of this wonderful mother's love with a great deal
of suspicion. But there can be no doubt of its truth. I remember that
the Reporter of the _Evening Moon_ spoke of this, and that it won his
admiration, as it could not fail to win the admiration of any person
who did not know how wicked is the heart that beats in Mrs. Holdfast's
bosom. Can you reconcile it with your knowledge of her? I cannot. It
does not raise the character of the woman in my eyes; it debases it.
In the nursery Mrs. Holdfast gave Fanny a letter, with instructions to
deliver it to the gentleman in person, and to wait for an answer.
My dear, this letter was addressed "Mr. Pelham, 147, Buckingham Palace
Road."
Here at once is established the fact of the continuance of the intimacy
between Mr. Pelham and Mrs. Holdfast. Is it possible that your father,
after you left the country, discovered that his wife was deceiving him,
and flew from the shame of her presence? It must be so. What, then, took
place between husband and wife, and to whose advantage would it be that
he should be made to disappear? I shudder to contemplate the answer. I
can find but one; it is horrible to think of.
Fanny received the letter without remark, and went to the address in
Buckingham Palace Road. Mr. Pelham was in, and Fanny was desired to walk
up-stairs. There, in a handsomely-furnished room, she saw Mr. Pelham,
lounging on a sofa, smoking and drinking. "A regular swell," said Fanny.
He tore the letter open, and tossed it away passionately, without
reading it.
"You haven't taken anything out of it?" he cried to Fanny.
"Oh, no, sir," replied Fanny, "it's just as Mrs. Holdfast gave it to me.
I was to wait for an answer."
Fanny says he looked as savage as if he had expected to find the
envelope full of money, and didn't find a penny. He drew the letter
to him and read it; then rose, and took some paper from a desk,
scribbled an answer, which he put carelessly into an envelope and
threw over to Fanny, saying, "Give her that!" Fanny states that he
is not an agreeable-looking gentleman, and that there is something
about him that reminds her of ---- but here Fanny stopped, and would
not finish what she intended to say. She roused my curiosity, but she
would not satisfy it.
"Wait a bit," she said. "I've got an idea in my head. If it's a right
one I shall astonish you. If it ain't, it would be foolish to speak
about it."
I could get nothing more than this out of her, and I let the subject
drop, but there is evidently something very weighty on her mind.
She hurried into the street with Mr. Pelham's answer to Mrs. Holdfast's
note, and getting into a quiet nook, where she was free from
observation, asked a girl to read it to her. Mr. Pelham had scarcely
wetted the gum, and the envelope was easily unfastened. Fanny
endeavoured to commit the letter to memory, but she failed; the girl who
read it to her could not quite make out the words. The letter contained
a demand for money, and Mr. Pelham said in it that before the week was
out he must have a cheque for five hundred pounds. One remark Fanny
perfectly remembered. "If you are going to turn niggardly and stingy,"
wrote Mr. Pelham, "I shall have to keep the purse myself. Don't forget
that the money is as much mine as yours, more mine than yours indeed,
and that I could ruin you with one word."
Fanny says that when Mrs. Holdfast read the letter (which she delivered
properly fastened) and came to those words--of course Fanny could only
guess that--Mrs. Holdfast said aloud:
"And yourself, too, Pelham. It would go harder with you than with me."
For a moment--only for a single moment, as I gather from Fanny--Mrs.
Holdfast's face grew haggard, but she became gay again instantly, and
began to sing and talk lightly. Can such a nature as hers really feel?
Again, for the second time this week, Richard Manx has not come to his
room in Great Porter Square. I make sure of this by putting the chain on
the street door after mid-night. I attach importance to the slightest
circumstance now, and do not allow anything to escape me. Do not for a
moment let your courage and your hopefulness fail you. We have not yet
obtained a tangible link to start from, but it appears to me as if
events were coming closer; something will come to light presently which
will assist in the discovery of your father's murderer. You are never
absent from my thoughts; you are for ever in my heart. I am yours till
death.
[Decoration]