O RARE TOM BARLEY!
Aunt Leth's statement to her husband that Tom Barley was going to
Parksides to-night, and was determined to get some news of Phoebe, was
in exact accordance with that faithful fellow's determination. Hitherto
in his visits to Parksides he had contented himself with wandering and
lingering in the vicinity of the grounds; he had no right to enter them,
and it was a certainty that he would get himself into difficulty if he
committed a trespass. But he was now nerved to a daring pitch, for which
'Melia Jane slightly, and Fanny Lethbridge largely, were responsible. By
'Melia Jane he was led to believe that to render his young mistress a
service which might be inestimable, and of which she stood sorely in
need, depended entirely upon himself. The nature of this service, and
the manner in which it was to be rendered, were a mystery to the
elucidation of which he held no clue, and to all appearance he might
continue to go to Parksides for years, as he had already been doing for
months, without his being any the wiser. But Fanny had stepped in and
implored him to do something--never mind what nor at how great a
risk--to get one word from Phoebe that he could bring back to the
Lethbridges. "What _can_ I do, miss?" Tom had asked. "Get inside the
grounds at night," Fanny had replied, "when Phoebe's father and that
wicked wretch, Mrs. Pamflett, are asleep. You know the room in which my
dear cousin sleeps. Perhaps you may see a light in it--if not the first
time you go, the second, or third, or fourth. If you see a light it is
almost certain that my cousin will be awake, because she always sleeps
in the dark. Throw a little gravel up at her window; you will know how
to act so that she shall not be frightened. She knows your voice, and
has spoken a hundred times of your kindness to her. Tell her you come
from me and Aunt Leth; that we sent you. Ask her if she wants any help.
Say that we are all ready to die for her; that we love her more than
ever we did; that we have written again and again to her, and that we
are certain that our letters have been kept from her; that Mr. Cornwall
is here continually, and never ceases speaking of her; that he is
faithful and true to her, and will be all his life. Say whatever comes
into your mind, Tom, that you think will please and comfort her, and
bring us back some news of her. Do, Tom, do!" Fanny said much more than
this, and said it so excitedly and with so much fervour that there was
no resisting her. So Tom Barley had promised, and he set out for
Parksides determined to carry his resolution into effect. He knew what
he was risking, and that if he were caught by Miser Farebrother or Mrs.
Pamflett or Jeremiah prowling in the grounds in the dead of the night,
he would be as good as ruined. He would be dismissed from the force, and
all his bright hopes for the future would be destroyed. These
considerations, however, did not deter him from putting his design into
execution. His love for his young mistress was too profound for him to
hesitate because there was danger ahead. All the more reason that he
should go straight on to his service of humble love and duty.
He reached Beddington station at a few minutes past eleven o'clock, and
he walked slowly thence to Parksides, congratulating himself that the
night was dark, and that he was therefore not likely to be recognized.
By midnight he was on the outskirts of the grounds. He was familiar with
every inch of them, and he was soon immediately outside the old house,
looking up at the windows. All was dark and silent; there came from
within not a sound of life. There was no light in his young mistress's
room, but the white blinds drawn down were an indication that it was
inhabited. He resolved to wait an hour or two, and then, if all still
remained silent, if no sign came to him, to make a cautious attempt to
arouse Phoebe by throwing a little light gravel against the
window-panes. He knew, also, in which room Miser Farebrother slept, and
saw that all was dark therein. Up to this point he was safe.
He had been watching and waiting for nearly an hour when he was startled
by a circumstance which could not but be unusual at such an hour of the
night in that locality. For a horseman to gallop along the public road
would have been reasonable enough, but for the rider to pull up
immediately outside the grounds, to alight, to tie his horse to a hedge,
to creep stealthily into the grounds, to peer around him in the dark for
several minutes, not daring to move another step until he was convinced
that he was alone and that his movements were not observed; then to
creep on and on into the interior of the grounds, away from the house,
to pause again and take from an inner pocket a dark lantern, and to
commence to search the earth for some mark of which he was in quest--all
this was unusual and suspicious; but it was exactly what occurred, and
the man peering and searching, falling on his knees now and then, and
seeming to tear at the earth, was none other than Jeremiah Pamflett!
When the sounds of the horse's feet had ceased outside the grounds, Tom
Barley had crept in that direction, and had seen what has been
described. He recognized Jeremiah, but had not the slightest idea of the
object which had brought the schemer to Parksides at such a strange
hour. But it was not the first time that Jeremiah had been thus engaged.
He was convinced that in some part of the grounds there was a spot in
which Miser Farebrother had been in the habit of secreting large hoards
of money. During the last three or four months the miser had drawn out
of the bank at various times sums amounting in the aggregate to not less
than L7,000. Information which Jeremiah had received from his mother had
forced upon him this conviction of a secret hiding-place. Even in the
daylight, when he was strong enough to walk in the open air by the aid
of his crutch stick, the miser was sometimes seen by Mrs. Pamflett
creeping painfully onward in the direction to which Jeremiah was now
devoting his attention. Lynx-eyed and fox-like in his movements, Miser
Farebrother had never failed to discover when Mrs. Pamflett was watching
him, and on every occasion he had peremptorily sent her about her
business. He was too wary for her, but she was satisfied that he had
this secret hiding-place; Jeremiah was satisfied of it also, and knowing
that it would not be safe for him to search for it in daylight, he had
adopted this means toward the discovery. Had it not been that it was
almost vitally necessary that he should produce a large sum of money by
a certain date to save himself from exposure, Jeremiah Pamflett might
not have had the courage to do as he was doing now. The career into
which he had been tempted by Captain Ablewhite had proved singularly
disastrous; he had "plunged" and lost, and was now engaged in the
desperate task of trying to get his money back. If not his money, some
other person's money--he scarcely cared whose, or by what means, so long
as he made himself safe; and surely in these midnight quests, cautious
as he was, coming out of London disguised, and always careful to avoid
observation, there was small danger of exposure.
He had not yet been successful. At first he had searched wildly, and
without any distinct plan, but of late he had pursued the search
systematically; mapping out the ground as it were, and examining it foot
by foot; and so, on this night when he was watched by Tom Barley, he
continued his examination. Four or five hundred yards off lay the house,
in deep shadow. From where Tom Barley and Jeremiah Pamflett were lurking
it could not be seen; and after Tom had been for some forty or fifty
minutes observing Jeremiah's proceedings, it occurred to him that this
was not the errand upon which he himself had come to Parksides. He moved
silently back in the direction of the house, and started when he
observed a light in the room occupied by Miser Farebrother. Some person,
therefore, must be awake in the house. Tom felt that he was in a
position of danger, but he would not desert his post. He fancied he
heard voices proceeding from the room, but he was not sure, though his
sense of hearing was extraordinarily acute. However it was, the
impression of these real or fancied sounds did not remain upon him. He
stood in silence for a few minutes, and then the light in the miser's
room was suddenly extinguished. All was dark within and without. He
moved in the direction of his young mistress's room; there was no
indication that she was not asleep, and the knowledge he had gained that
Miser Farebrother was passing a restless night was a warning not to
attempt to arouse her on this occasion. He would leave it for another
time. It was now past two o'clock. "One more peep at that scoundrel
Jeremiah," he thought, "and then it will be as well that I should make
tracks to London." It was his intention to foot it; a walk of ten or
eleven miles was a small matter to such a pedestrian.
He did not fulfil his intention of going in search of Jeremiah. The
front of the house opened, and a figure staggered blindly out. Tom
Barley could not distinguish who it was, but it seemed to him that the
person's movements were wild and uncertain, and that there was in them
no attempt at concealment. The figure was approaching in his direction,
swaying this way and that, attempting to catch at something for support;
then the arms were thrown up, a moan of agony escaped the lips, and the
figure slid rather than fell to the ground, where it lay still and
motionless.
Tom Barley knew who it was the moment she fell. He darted forward and
bent over her. Yes, it was Phoebe, his beloved mistress, with marks of
cruel blows upon her, with blood staining her white neck and forehead!
As he held her on his knee he saw these marks of blows and the oozing
blood, and his heart beat with furious passion and indignation.
This, then, had been the life of his dear mistress, the sweetest lady
the world contained; it was for this she had been immured in the
prisonhouse of Parksides! But he, her devoted servant, was there to
protect her now, and to convey her to a place of safety!
His passion deserted him; he became cold as ice. Had he arrived too
late? Was she dead?
He put his ear to her heart. No, she was not dead. Faint as were her
heart-beats, he heard them, and thanked God!
There was no time to lose--not a moment. He would take her at once to
London, where love and truest pity awaited her; he would take her to the
only home in which she had had an hour's real happiness.
But how was this to be accomplished? It must be done swiftly and in
secret. There were no trains. He could have carried her light form
easily to the station, but it would be hours before the departure of a
train to London. There was no possibility of obtaining a conveyance or a
horse.
A horse! An inspiration fell on him. Jeremiah's horse was tethered a
couple of hundred yards away.
Quick as thought he acted. Swiftly and tenderly he lifted the inanimate
form from the ground, swiftly and tenderly he bore it along; with a
lightning movement he unfastened the rope, and was on the horse's back,
clasping Phoebe closely to him. Away he galloped through the dark
night toward London!
Jeremiah raised his head. What sound was that? The sound of a horse
galloping away. He ran to the place by which he had fastened his horse.
It was gone. "Curse my luck!" cried Jeremiah.
He dared not remain any longer. He must himself get back to London, and
there was nothing for it but to walk the road. He did not doubt but that
the horse had got loose, and was running riderless. Perhaps he would
catch it up. He extinguished the light in his lantern, which he put into
his pocket, buttoning his long coat over it. Then he shambled on,
cursing and swearing.
The rushing air played about Phoebe's face and revived her. The horse,
urged by Tom Barley, was racing like the wind. Tom, glancing down, saw
his beloved mistress's eyes languidly open.
"Don't be frightened," he whispered. "I am with you--Tom Barley! We are
riding to London. I am taking you to your aunt's house in Camden Town."
"Oh, Tom!" she murmured; and clasped her trembling arms about his neck,
and laid her face close to his.
If ever a man tasted heaven on earth, Tom Barley tasted it then.
And Phoebe? O dolorous night, charged with woe and pain! O happy
night, charged with visions of hope and glory! O blessed winds that
kissed her hot and feverish face and neck! Loving hearts still beat for
her; loving arms were waiting to welcome her. The sweetness overcame
her; her eyes were filled with happy tears.
"Miss Phoebe," said Tom.
"Yes, Tom?"
"You must try and help yourself a bit."
"I will, Tom. Tell me what to do."
"In half an hour we shall be in London streets. Then I must take you off
the horse. We can't ride on it to your aunt's door. There are reasons."
"Very well, Tom."
"Do you think you will be able to walk a bit?"
"I will try, Tom--and you will help me?"
"That I will. I could carry you, but it would draw attention upon us.
Perhaps we may get a cab. Then there will be no difficulty."
"Tom, I will do everything you tell me."
"Thank you, Miss Phoebe."
They had taken the Croydon road to London Bridge, and in half an hour,
when they reached a quiet street, in which no soul but themselves was to
be seen, Tom lifted Phoebe from the horse.
"Hold on to me, Miss Phoebe, and turn your face a bit."
She did so. With a branch which he had plucked from the hedge and had
used as a whip Tom struck the horse a smart blow. Away it galloped with
an empty saddle on its back, and in three moments was lost to his sight.
"Now, Miss Phoebe, if we can only find a cab!"
Angel Fortune was on their side. They had taken scarcely a dozen steps
when a four-wheeler turned the corner of the street. The bargain was
soon made, and Phoebe and Tom, safely ensconced in the cab, were on
their way to Camden Town.
"My dear," said Aunt Leth, shaking her husband, "the street-door bell
has rung; and, hark! do you hear the loud knocking? What can have
happened?"
He was out of bed in a moment and gliding down the stairs, and Aunt Leth
quickly drew on a dressing-gown, and hastened after him.
"Open the door," cried Tom Barley, outside. "It's all right! There's
nothing to be frightened at."
Uncle Leth threw open the door.
"Aunt Leth! oh, dear Aunt Leth!" murmured Phoebe, and fell sobbing
into the good woman's arms.
"Phoebe! my poor dear Phoebe! Oh! look here! look here! There is
blood upon her!"
"I am well and happy now!" sobbed Phoebe. "Oh! so happy! so happy!
Dear aunt, dear uncle, don't let them take me from you again!"
"They never shall! they never shall! Oh, my poor dear! oh, my poor
dear!"
Close, close, to the tender womanly heart, close to the faithful
breast--closer, closer, closer!
"Phoebe!" screamed Fanny, flying down the stairs. "Oh, Phoebe!
Phoebe! Mother, give her to me! give her to me!"
And here was 'Melia Jane, in the most outrageous of costumes, quite
scandalous, indeed, running down to the kitchen to light the fire.
"I will tell you all to-morrow," said Tom Barley. "Nobody must know she
is here. Good-night."
"Tom!" murmured Phoebe.
"Yes, Miss Phoebe?"
"Good-night, Tom."
"Good-night, miss."
He took the thin white hand she held out to him. She drew his face to
hers and kissed him.
"Thank you, Tom! Oh, thank you!"
The tender light of the coming day shone upon his tear-stained face as
he walked home to his humble bed.