There was a deeply interested gathering in one of the large offices of
the Waterloo Station, where a clerk in his shirt-sleeves was seated
beneath a gas-jet making entries, what time two porters, also in
shirt-sleeves, and by the light of other gas-jets, seemed to be engaged
in a game of "Catch." They were, however, not displaying their deftness
with balls, but with small packets, parcels, baskets, bundles of
fishing-rods, and what seemed to be carefully done-up articles fresh
from tradespeople's shops. The game seemed to consist of one porter
taking a packet from a great basket upon wheels, and saying something
before he jerked it rapidly to the other porter, who also said something
and deposited the packet in another basket on wheels; while, apparently,
the clerk at the desk where the gas-jet fluttered and whistled as it
burned, carefully noted the score in a book. Further inspection,
however, showed the casual observer that the men were not at play, but
busy manipulating parcels and preparing them for despatch to their
various destinations. The business came to a standstill all at once, as
a couple of guards just off duty, and an inspector and ticket-collector,
came sauntering in, chatting loudly one to the other about some incident
that had just taken place upon the platform.
"Ah, you fellows get all the fun," said the clerk, sticking his pen
behind his ear, and slewing round his tall stool, as the guards made
themselves comfortable, one upon a wine-hamper, and the other upon an
upturned box; while the ticket-collector seated himself upon the edge of
a huge pigeon-hole, which necessitated his keeping his body in a bent
position, something after the fashion of that held by occupants of the
pleasant dungeon known in the Tower as "The Little Ease."
"Well, we get all the rough as well," said one of the guards, "and some
ugly customers too."
"Regular 'lopement, then?" said one of the porters, scratching his ear
with a piece of straw.
"Regular, my lad," said one of the guards. "You saw the gent before,
didn't you, George?"
"Yes; he was walking up and down the platform for half an hour first,"
said the ticket-collector. "I hadn't noticed the other, because he was
outside the gate waiting."
"Well, tell us all about it," said the clerk.
"Oh, there ain't much to tell," said the guard who had spoken first. "I
saw the girl get in at Lympton, regular stylish-looking body, nice
figure, closely veiled. I thought it meant sixpence perhaps; and took
her bag, and ran and opened a first-class, when she quite staggered me
as she says: `Third class, please.' Well, of course that made me notice
her more than once, as we stopped coming up, and I could see that she
had been crying and was in trouble."
The little party grew more interested and drew closer.
"Somehow, I couldn't help seeing that there was something wrong, for she
tried to avoid being noticed, squeezing herself up in the corner of the
compartment, and then being very fidgety at every station we stopped at,
till I slapped my leg as I got into the break, and says to myself:
`She's off!'"
"Ah, it would look like it," said the clerk, nodding, and letting his
pen slip from behind his ear, so that it fell, sticking its nib like an
arrow in the boarded floor.
"Yes; I wasn't a bit surprised to see a dark good-looking gentleman on
the platform, peeping into every carriage as the train drew up; and I
managed to be close to her door as the gent opened it and held out his
hand."
"`Why didn't you come first-class, you foolish girl?' he says in a
whisper; and she didn't answer, only gave a low moan, like, and let him
help her out on to the platform, when he draws her arm right through
his, so as to support her well, catches up her little bag, and walks her
along towards George here; and I felt so interested, that I followed
'em, just to see how matters went."
"You felt reg'lar suspicious then?" said one of the porters.
"I just did, my lad; so that as soon as they'd passed George here, him
giving up the girl's ticket, I wasn't a bit surprised to see a great
stout fellow in a velveteen jacket and a low-crowned hat step right in
front of 'em just as my gent had called up a cab, lay one hand on the
girl's arm, and the other on the gent's breast, and he says, in a rough,
country sort o' way: `Here, I want you.'"
"Just like a detective," said the clerk.
"Not a bit, my lad--not a bit," said the guard. "Reg'lar bluff
gamekeeper sort of chap, who looked as if he wouldn't stand any
nonsense; and as soon as she saw him, the girl gives a little cry, and
looks as if she'd drop, while my gent begins to bluster.--`Stand aside,
fellow,' he says. `How dare you! Stand back!' The big bluff fellow
seemed so staggered by the gent's way, that for just about a moment he
was checked. Then he takes one step forward, and look here--he does
so."
"Oh!" shouted the clerk, for the guard brought down one muscular hand
sharply upon his shoulder and gripped him tightly.
"Lor' bless you, my lad! that's nothing to it. He gripped that gent's
shoulder so that you a'most heard his collar-bone crack; and he turned
yellow and gashly like, as the other says to him with a growl as savage
as a bear, `You want to wed my sister, eh? Well, you shall. I won't
leave you till you do.'"
"That was business and no mistake," said the other guard; "wasn't it?"
"Ay, and he meant business too," continued the first speaker, "for the
gent began to bluster, and say, `How dare you!' and `I'll give you in
charge;' and then he calls for a policeman; and then `Tak' howd o' my
sister,' says the big fellow."
"Ay, that was it," said the ticket-collector. "`Tak' howd,' just like a
Yorkshireman."
"George there catches the girl, as was half-fainting; and as there was
getting quite a crowd now, the bluff fellow tightens his grip, brings
Mr Gent down on his knees, and gives him such a thrashing with a stout
ash-stick as would have half killed him, if we hadn't interfered; and
Thompson come up and outs with his book. `Here,' he says, just like one
of the regular force; `I'll take the charge.'"
"When," said the second guard, "up jumps my gentleman, and made the
cleanest run for it, dodging through the crowd, and out through the
ticket-office, you ever saw."
"Ay," said the ticket-collector; "and he run round so as to get to the
waterside, and over Charing Cross Bridge."
"And did Thompson take up the countryman?"
"No," said the guard. "He gave his name out straightforward--William
Cressy, Rayford, Berks. `I'm there when I'm wanted,' he says. `This
here's my sister as that chap was stealing away, and I've thrashed him,
and I'll do it again if ever we meets.'"
"And then the crowd gave a cheer," said the ticket-collector.
"And Thompson put his book in his pocket," said the second guard.
"And the countryman walked the girl off to a cab, put her in, jumped in
himself, and the crowd cheered again; and that's about all."
"And I'd have given him a cheer too, if I'd been there," said the clerk,
flushing. "Why, if a fellow as calls himself a gentleman was to treat
my sister like that, I'd half-kill him, law or no law."
"And serve him right too," was chorused.
Then the business of catching parcels began again; the indignant clerk
continued his entering; a little more conversation went on in a
desultory manner, and the guards and ticket-collector off duty walked
home.
The station was disturbed by no more extraordinary incident that night.
Trains went and trains came, till at last there was only one more for
the neighbourhood of Scarlett's home.
Doctor Scales was standing on the platform thinking, and in that
confused state of mind that comes upon nearly every one who is in search
of a person in the great wilderness of London, and has not the most
remote idea of what would be the next best step to take. He was asking
himself whether there was anything else that he could do. He had been
to the police, given all the information that he could, and the
telegraph had been set in motion. Then he had been told that nothing
more could be done--that he must wait; and he was waiting, and thinking
whether he ought to telegraph again to Scarlett; to take the last train
due in a few minutes, and go down again; or stay in town, and see what
the morrow brought forth.
"I'll stay," he said at last; and he turned to go, feeling weary and in
that disgusted frame of mind that comes over a man who has been working
hard mentally and bodily for days, and who then finds himself
low-spirited and thoroughly vexed with everything he has done. It is a
mental disease that only one thing will cure, and that is sleep. It was
to find this rest that the doctor had turned, and was about to seek his
chambers, when he came suddenly upon the object of his search--Fanny
Cressy--closely veiled and hanging heavily upon the great arm of her
stalwart brother.
"You here, Cressy?" cried the doctor excitedly.
"Yes, sir," said the farmer fiercely. "Hev you got to say anything
again it?"
"No, man, no! But you--you have found your sister."
"I hev, sir," said Cressy, more fiercely still. "Hev you got anything
to say again that--or _her_?" he added slowly.
"No, no; only I say, thank heaven!" cried the doctor fervently. "I came
up to try and overtake her."
"You did, sir? Then thank you kindly," said the farmer, changing the
stout walking-stick he carried from one hand to the other, so as to
leave the right free to extend for a hearty shake. He altered his
menacing tone too, and seemed to interpose his great body as a sort of
screen between his sister and the doctor as he continued in a low voice,
only intended for the other's ear: "Don't you say nowt to her; I've said
about enough.--And it's all right now," he said, raising his voice, as
if for his sister to hear. "Me and Fanny understands one another, and
she's coming home wi' me; and if any one's got to say anything again her
for this night's work, he's got to talk to William Cressy, farmer,
Rayford, Berks."
There was a low sob here; and the doctor saw that the drooping girl was
clinging tightly to her brother's arm.
"I am sure," said the doctor quietly, "no one would be so brutal as to
say anything against a trusting woman, who placed faith in a scoundrel."
"Doctor Scales!" cried Fanny, raising her head as she was about to say a
few words in defence of the man she loved.
"You hold your tongue, Fan," said the farmer firmly. "The doctor's
right. He is a scoundrel, a regular bla'guard, as you'd soon have found
out, if old John Monnick hadn't put me up to his games."
"Bill, dear Bill!" sobbed the girl.
"Well, ain't he? If he'd been a man, and had cared for you, wouldn't he
have come fair and open to me, as you hadn't no father nor mother? And
if he'd meant right, would he have sneaked off like a whipped dog, as he
did to-night!"
"Your brother is right, Fanny," said the doctor quietly.--"Now, let's
get back, and I can ease the minds of all at the Rosery. It was at Sir
James's wish that I came; and I have been setting the police at work to
find your whereabouts."
"Sir James always was a gentleman," said the farmer, giving his head a
satisfied nod; "and it puzzles me how he could have had a cousin who was
such a bla--Well, it's no use for you to nip my arm, Fan; he is a
bla'guard, and I'm beginning to repent now as I didn't half-kill him,
and--"
"There goes the last bell," cried the doctor, hurriedly interposing; and
taking the same compartment as the brother and sister, he earned poor
weak Fanny's gratitude on the way down by carefully taking her brother's
thoughts away from Arthur Prayle and her escapade, and keeping him in
conversation upon questions relating to the diseases of horses, cows,
and sheep.
Volume 2, Chapter XIV.