THE FORGER'S WIFE.
Days and weeks passed, and there was no intelligence of Netta. Rowland
had heard from Owen of the domestic misery at home, and also that he had
been to see Mrs Griffith Jenkins, who disclaimed all knowledge of her
son's hiding place, or what had become of his wife and child. Her own
grief was too real to allow even the sceptical Owen to doubt it; and
when, in addition, she gave him to understand that she, too, was nearly
ruined by Howel's forgeries, but that she would die rather than tell any
one else of it, he could only pity the wretched mother who had, by her
bad example and teaching, helped to train her son for the ruin into
which he had fallen.
Rowland heard that Mr Deep had been arrested upon a charge of abetting
Howel in his crimes, and that a search-warrant for the examination of
his papers had brought to light other nefarious dealings, as well as an
unsigned letter, supposed to be in Howel's writing, intimating his
intention of going to America. This had caused inquiries to be made at
the docks, and police emissaries to be despatched forthwith to America.
A person answering his description had sailed for that continent from
Southampton the day after Howel left his house, but unaccompanied by
wife or child.
Strange to say that the Epsom races had come off, and that Howel's
horse, Magnificent, had actually won the Derby stakes! Too late! save
for his creditors and those he had defrauded. Still, doubtless, one more
bitter drop in the cup of his despair, wherever he might chance to be
drinking it.
All that he had left behind him was sold, hunters inclusive, and this
Magnificent alone, particularly after the Derby, yielded a princely
fortune. Too late, either for further crimes, or poor Netta's hoped-for
reformation.
It was hard work for Rowland to go through his heavy parochial duties
with this great misfortune hanging over his head. But if the sympathy
and kindness of friends could help him in his work, and support him
under the pressure of anxiety, he was helped and supported. Still it was
evident to all that he fled from society, and in spite of the delicate
tact of the Joneses and Freda, he had scarcely been near them since that
first day. Whether it was pride or susceptibility, he could scarcely
tell himself, but he could not bring himself to thrust his sorrow and
those of his family upon others. He caused every possible search to be
made, through the police and otherwise for Netta, but in vain.
But Providence answered his prayers, when his own efforts seemed
fruitless, and that through the instrumentality of one of the poor
children, for whose benefit he had exerted such talents as God had given
him.
Some four years before, a miserable girl of eleven years old had become
one of his ragged school children. I say _his_, because even his rector
allowed him the merit of establishing the school. Through this child,
Rowland became acquainted with her mother, a wretched, starving widow,
living in squalor and iniquity. Miss Gwynne had helped her temporally,
Rowland spiritually, and when she had died, about a year ago, he had
strong hopes that much suffering had brought forth a sincere repentance.
Her little girl was one of the many examples of the blessed effects of a
ragged school. At her mother's death she was fifteen years old,
teachable and anxious to be taught. Rowland prevailed on a respectable
woman, the lodging-house keeper, in whose house Netta had found a
refuge, to try her as a servant, and she had turned out well.
So it was that this girl, having an idea that Rowland could effect
wonders, waited for him one Sunday evening after service, and asked if
she might speak with him. She told him, with a long preface of
apologies, that she did not know if she was right in saying what she was
going to say, but that there was a poor lady in her mistress's second
floor, who was very ill, out of her mind she thought, and who hadn't a
friend in the world. The lady had forbidden her mistress to speak to any
doctor or clergyman about her, but she had not forbidden her. And indeed
it seemed almost worse to see a lady in such trouble and sickness than
it did those who were used to it, as she, and the like of her had been,
and would be still, but for Mr Prothero.
'What is her name?' asked Rowland eagerly.
'Mrs Mills, sir.'
Rowland's sudden hope fell.
'And she has a little girl, sir, who isn't well either, and who does
nothing but cry and moan.'
'What is her name?'
'Her mamma calls her Minette, or some such name, sir.'
'I will come with you now,' said Rowland, in great agitation. 'Make
haste; I suppose she has been with you some time.'
'More than a month, sir, and she is always expecting some one to
come--and no one comes.'
Rowland strode on, fast--faster than he had once before walked with
Gladys--heedless of everything around him. In about a quarter of an hour
he and the girl reached the lodging house.
'You will tell missus how it was, please, sir. I don't think she can be
angry, sir.'
'I am sure she will not be angry; tell her that I want to see her.
Mrs Saunders, the landlady, came at once.
Rowland inquired into the particulars of Netta's arrival at her house,
her illness, etc., and heard what we already know of Howel's sudden
departure; and the following account, in addition of the month Netta had
spent since he left her.
'The morning after Mr Mills left, sir,' said the landlady 'Mrs Mills did
not ring for breakfast, or show any sign of being up. I waited for a
long time, and then I went and listened at the bedroom door. I heard a
kind of moaning, and was so frightened, I made so bold as to go in. I
found the poor lady lying down on the bed, beside the little girl, who
was still asleep. She seemed more dead than alive, and looked at me
terrified-like, as if she didn't know who was coming in. When she saw
me, she tried to get up and look cheerful, and to give account of her
never having undressed. I went and made her some tea, and got her to go
into the sitting-room by the fire which the girl lighted, for she was as
cold as death. Then I dressed the little girl, who awoke and began to
cry when she saw how pale her mamma looked, and I told her to try to
make her mamma eat and drink. And the little dear, like an angel as she
is, began to comfort her mother, and to coax her, and when I saw the
poor lady begin to shed tears over the child I went away.
'Ever since that morning, sir, she has been in a kind of a dream. She
does nothing but look out of the window, up and down the street, as if
she was expecting some one, and whenever there is a step on the stairs,
she runs to the door and peeps out. And then, when the postman's knock
is heard, she starts, turns red, turns pale, and puts her hand on her
heart. I am sure she has heart complaint, and I asked her to let me send
for a doctor, but she wouldn't hear of it. Sometimes I think she's a
little crazed. Once I mentioned the clergy, and asked if she wouldn't
like to see one, and said you and Mr Jones, sir, were very kind
gentlemen. She started up, and said, "Hush! hush! not for worlds--not
for worlds! Mr Mills will soon be back!" She gave me a ten-pound note to
change twice--and I was obliged to buy everything for her and the little
girl, for they hadn't a rag with them, except what they stood up in. I
was as careful as I could be, but the money went, and now she talks of
selling some jewels and things she brought with her. Oh, sir! if you
could find their friends!'
As may be supposed, Rowland had some difficulty in controlling his
emotion during this recital. When Mrs Saunders paused, he said,--
'I have every reason to believe that I know this poor lady, and, if you
will trust me to go to her, I am sure that I shall be of service. I must
go quite alone. You may depend upon my having a right to do this.'
'Whatever you do, sir, is sure to be right and kind. If you will take it
upon yourself I shall be only too glad. You know the room, sir? the one
where you used to go and see my poor husband.'
Rowland was upstairs immediately. Almost before he reached the door, a
pale, haggard face peered out of it.
'It is--it is Howel!' cried poor Netta, rushing into the gloomy passage,
and throwing her arms round Rowland's neck.
'No, Netta--dearest Netta! it is I, Rowland--your brother,' said
Rowland, supporting his fainting sister back into the room.
'Uncle! Uncle Rowland! I am so glad!' exclaimed a little voice, as
Minette ran towards him and clasped his knees.
As, the glare of the gas by which the room was lighted fell upon Netta's
face, Rowland half believed that it was the corpse of his once blooming
sister that he was placing on the sofa.
'Fetch some water, Minette, darling,' said Rowland, supporting Netta.
'This is what mamma takes,' said the child, bringing Rowland a small
bottle labelled 'Prussic acid' from the bedroom.
'I cannot give her this. Is there no wine?'
'The little girl went to an old chiffonier and brought a decanter with
wine in it. Rowland poured some down Netta's throat, and she recovered.
'Rowland, is it you? Not--not--' muttered Netta, as she strove to rise.
'I think you had better go. Perhaps, when he comes, he won't like--oh,
my heart.'
'Be calm, dear Netta; I will do nothing you dislike. If Howel comes back
I will go away directly. I will be most careful of what I say. You need
not fear me, Netta,--your brother who loves you so dearly'
'You won't go away again, uncle, will you?' said the pale, little
Minette, climbing on Rowland's knee and nestling her head in his bosom;
'or will you take mamma and me away from this nasty place?'
'No, dear, Uncle Rowland will not leave you, he is so very glad to find
you.'
Tears, actual tears, filled Rowland's eyes as he kissed the brow of the
child, who was soon fast asleep in his arms, and as he held Netta's thin
hand and looked at her bewildered face.
'Did you say you loved me, Rowland?' asked Netta, looking at him with a
strange, wandering glance, whilst large tears rolled down her cheeks. 'I
don't think I deserve any one's love, do I? Is mother vexed that I have
been away so long?'
'Yes, dear, and you must come home at once. You must come to me first to
get strong, and then--'
'Hush! hush! No, I cannot leave this house,--I will not; never, never
till Howel comes or sends for me. Isn't that some one on the stairs?'
'I will see, dear.'
'No, not you,--not you.'
'It is some one gone to the next floor. Lie still, dear Netta.'
'It is nice having you, Rowland; but if he should come--'
'I would go away. You are ill, Netta. Tell me what is the matter with
you.'
Rowland was feeling Netta's pulse, and found that they were too rapid to
be counted, whilst he could literally hear the pulsation of her heart.
'I don't know; something at my heart. And--and--my head, just here,--at
the top. It is so burning, like fire.'
'We must nurse you, Netta. If you would only come to my lodgings.'
'Hush! hush! not for the world. I will stay here till--I am sure that is
a step.'
'No dear. Try to be calm and sleep for half-an-hour, whilst I go and
make some arrangements.'
'Do you think he will come to-night?'
'I scarcely think he can, Netta. You know he is obliged to hide, dear,
do you not? for--'
'Yes, yes! he told me for a few days for debt, and then he would come
back. But he didn't murder Captain Dancy, did he?'
Netta started up and fixed her eyes wildly on her brother.
'No,--I assure you, no! I saw some one who saw Captain Dancy yesterday.'
'Thank God! thank God!'
'And, Netta, I do not think he can venture to come back just yet; so you
must try to get well for all our sakes.'
'Yes, I will, that I may go to him. I will sleep now. Put Minette by my
side. Poor Minette!'
Rowland laid the child's head on her mother's lap, and arranged the
pillows for Netta, and then went, with a heart full to bursting, to Mrs
Saunders.
'Mrs Saunders,' he said, 'I know that I can trust you. The poor lady to
whom you have been so kind is my own sister, for whom we have been
anxiously searching all this time. I don't know how far secrecy may be
necessary, but, at present at least, do no let this fact go beyond
yourself. Her husband has reduced her to what you see. I must leave her
for half-an-hour; meanwhile, will you prepare supper, make a cheerful
fire, let off the gas, and give us a couple of candles? Make the room as
home-like as you can, in short. After my sister and the little girl are
gone to bed, put a couple of blankets on the sofa in the sitting-room
for me. I cannot leave her to-night.'
'Excuse me, sir,' said Mrs Saunders, 'wouldn't your sleeping here excite
observation, if secrecy is necessary. You may depend on my care. Sarah
has slept on the sofa for a fortnight, unknown to Mrs Mills, to be
within call.'
'Perhaps you are right; but I want to make my sister fancy she is at
home. It might recall her mind, which is evidently wandering. I shall be
back soon.'
Rowland walked as fast as he could to Mr Jones'. He found him, his wife,
and Freda together in his library.
'I must apologise for coming so late,' he began; 'but I know you are so
kindly interested in my poor sister that you will excuse me. I have
found her and her child, and cannot prevail on her to leave her rooms at
Mrs Saunders', where she is.'
Then Rowland told his friends shortly how he had found her, and that he
feared her mind was in a most uncertain state.
'She evidently does not know her husband's crimes, but thinks he is
hiding on account of debt, and is expecting him to fetch her away every
moment. I think if we could distract her thoughts from this one subject
she might get better; but she is very ill, bodily as well as mentally.'
'Would not the sight of old friends be the best restorative?' suggested
Miss Gwynne. 'Gladys and I could go to her, and as we are in the habit
of visiting the sick in the parish, no suspicion could attach to our
being with her; for it would never do, in poor Netta's state, to expose
her to inquisitive people connected with her husband's flight.'
'Thank you--thank you, Miss Gwynne,' said Rowland 'This is what I
wished, but scarcely dared to ask.'
Miss Gwynne left the room, and returned accompanied by Gladys.
'Gladys says she is ready to go at once, if necessary,' said Freda; 'and
we can do without her, cannot we, Serena?'
'Quite well,' said Mrs Jones; 'but it will not do to excite an invalid,
and so sudden a visit may not be good for her.'
'She must not be left another night without a friend at hand,' said
Freda decidedly.
Rowland looked his thanks.
'Could not Mr Rowland prepare her for my coming? And I could sleep in
the sitting-room, and not even see her to-night, but be ready to wait
upon her to-morrow morning,' said Gladys.
'Yes,' said Freda. 'If you will go back and try to prepare her for
Gladys, Mr Prothero, she shall follow you in a short time.'
'I will bring her,' said Mr Jones, 'and she can but return, if you
cannot prevail on your sister to see her.'
Rowland could only press the hands of his kind friends, and hurry back
to Netta.
He found her sitting in an old easy-chair, with Minette on a stool at
her feet, fast asleep. The child refused to go to bed till 'Uncle
Rowland' came back. There was a bright fire in the grate, and a supper
was spread on a table drawn close to it. Candles replaced the gas-lamp,
and the room looked almost cheerful, in spite of its faded red curtains
and dingy furniture.
Netta had a small book in her hand, which she gave Rowland to look at.
'Mother gave me that when I was ill years ago--how long ago? How old is
Minette?'
'She must be nearly eight, I think,' said Rowland, turning over the
small, well-read Testament that had once been his mother's.
'I like that book now, Rowland!' said Netta. 'I am so glad you have come
back. It seemed so lonesome when you were gone. Ha! ha! Howel used to
say I must say _lonely_ and not lonesome. Are you sure he won't come and
find you here?'
'Quite sure. And I am going to bring another old friend to see you?--you
remember Gladys?'
'Gladys! No, I don't remember her. What! The Irish beggar? I don't like
her, and she don't like me. I think I was very unkind to her. Yes, I
should like to see her once to ask her pardon.'
Minette awoke just at this moment, and Rowland took her on his knee, and
gave her some supper, and tried to make Netta eat, but it was evident
that she had neither appetite nor inclination for food, though she did
her best to please her brother.
'This is like old times, Rowland,' she said. 'I like it better than
grandeur. When will Gladys come? Owen told me she saved mother's life.
Is it true? Why doesn't mother come?'
'Would you like to see Gladys to-night, Netta?'
'Yes. Will you go and fetch her?'
Rowland found Gladys and Mr Jones in Mrs Saunders' parlour. Gladys said
she would take her bonnet off, that she might meet Netta as she used to
do at the farm.
Rowland did not know that Gladys had put on the identical print gown
that Netta had given her years ago, and which she had kept carefully, in
remembrance of her. This and a plain cap transformed her into the Gladys
of Netta's recollection, from the Gladys of Miss Gwynne's attiring.
Her heart beat almost as quickly as Netta's as she entered her room, but
she steadied her nerves and voice as she went up to Netta, curtseyed,
and said quite naturally,--
'How do you do, Miss Netta?'
Netta put her hand to her brow, as if to clear her memory, and fixed her
large bewildered eyes on Gladys. Then she put out her hand, rather
condescendingly, with something of the old attempt at superiority, and
finally burst into tears.
The tears were so natural that Rowland and Gladys let them flow on; only
the latter knelt down by poor Netta's side, and taking her hands in
hers, pressed them tenderly. Netta threw her arms round Gladys' neck and
kissed her, and called her, 'Gladys, Gladys, fach!' and said, 'You will
not leave me.'
And thus the once proud little Netta and the always humble Gladys clave
to one another, as Naomi and Ruth.
Minette got off her uncle's knee, and climbed up into the chair, and
put her arms, too, round her mother's neck, and began to cry with her.
Rowland's emotion at this scene found vent in prayer. Inwardly he asked
that Gladys might be a comfort and support to his dear, wandering,
forsaken sister.
When Netta's emotion had worn itself out, Rowland prepared to go,
promising to return early on the morrow.
He asked Netta if she would like him to offer up a few words of
thanksgiving for their reunion before he left her, and when she assented
they all knelt together in family prayer. Eight full years had passed
since Netta had so knelt before.
When Rowland had departed, Gladys asked Minette if she might put her to
bed. The child looked shyly at her at first, and then allowed her to
undress her, and to take her to the close, gloomy bedroom. It was so
late, and the child was so tired, that her little head drooped in sleep
even before she was undressed, and when Gladys laid her pale cheek on
the pillow she slept soundly at once. Then Gladys returned to the
sitting-room, and found Netta at the door listening.
'Hush! you had better go. I think he is coming,' she said.
Gladys withdrew for a moment, till the steps were no longer heard. As
long as Netta had been occupied with her brother and Gladys, she seemed
to have forgotten the passing sounds, but when left alone she listened
as before.
With some difficulty Gladys prevailed on her to go to bed. Mrs Jones had
given her night-lights, and a slight sleeping potion before she left
home, upon the chance of their being wanted; and she put one of the
former in the bedroom, and gave Netta the latter. She sat by her side
until she fell asleep, and then returned to the sitting-room, literally
'to watch and pray.'