What Mr. Peterson
Had Said
THE sentence which Mrs. Cragg had read haunted her.
Not that she was able to recall the precise words. Her eyes had run
over the lines hastily, and the fright of Pattie's unexpected return
had left confused impressions. She was, however, disposed rather to
magnify than to minimise what had been written, and one portion of the
sentence recurred clearly, "I have resolved not to prosecute."
Then there had been something for which this Mr. Peterson might have
prosecuted Mr. Dale. Something so serious in its nature, that Mr. Dale
could have been had up in a court of justice, and possibly could even
have been condemned to penal servitude. In which case Pattie would
have been the child of a convict.
Mrs. Cragg leaped in a hurry to this conclusion, with very little to
build upon. She found some gratification in it. Had she not taken a
dislike to Mr. Dale at first sight? Had she not known by instinct that
he was not a dependable person? Had she not warned Mr. Cragg to have
nothing to do with him? Here was proof of her sagacity.
No very decisive proof, after all, when she came to think it over.
Mrs. Cragg did not for a moment doubt her own sagacity, or the
correctness of her own hasty conclusions—people of hasty and shallow
judgment seldom do—but she was aware that the reasons which satisfied
herself might not satisfy everybody. They would not, for instance,
satisfy her husband. So she became impatient for further proof. The
idea of reading that letter through took hold of her, and she argued
with herself that she had a right to do so. She and her husband were
giving Pattie a home—at all events for a time—and if Pattie refused
to answer questions as to her past history, Mrs. Cragg had a right
to find out what she wished to know in some other way.
So Mrs. Cragg stated to herself. She did not feel inclined to state
the same to Pattie, nor had she the smallest intention of being
discovered in the act of reading a letter not her own. Her "rights"
would wear a different aspect at such a moment. She did, however,
intend to see the letter again.
After all, she argued, it was only fair to Pattie and to Pattie's
father that she should do so. Now that the notion was in her head,
she could not get rid of it, and she might be doing an injustice to an
innocent man. The rest of the letter would, of course, either confirm
or destroy her impression; therefore it was desirable that she should
read it.
Whether Mrs. Cragg believed this line of reasoning may be doubted.
She said to herself that she did.
Difficulties thickened when she had made up her mind. During several
days she could find no opportunity. Dot was unable to go out, except
for a turn, on account of her leg, and Pattie seldom cared to go
alone. She was willing to undertake any errand for Mrs. Cragg, but she
always came back quickly. Besides, so long as Dot was to the fore,
Mrs. Cragg had to be cautious. Dot might be too lame for a walk,
but she was not too lame to go stumping about the place, poking her
sharp little nose into every room in succession. If Dot's keen eyes
should detect her "ma-ma" in Pattie's room, Dot's high-pitched voice
would cheerfully proclaim the fact. Mrs. Cragg preferred to avoid
this. She wished it not to be known that she ever went inside Pattie's
door. So she had no choice but to wait.
Dot's leg mended, and at length a day came when it was decreed that
she might venture on a good ramble. Pattie was to take her, and Mrs.
Cragg fixed on a time of the day when no one else would be about.
She saw them off the premises, waited for Dot's shrill little tones to
die away, and then betook herself to Pattie's room, bolting the door
inside. The box of papers was no longer where it had first been
placed, under a small table. Mrs. Cragg took a look round, and went to
the cupboard, within which she at once descried it, below a pile of
cardboard boxes.
"What nonsense to put it there!" said Mrs. Cragg.
The cardboard boxes had to be dislodged, and then her own key had to
be fitted. It turned easily, and Mrs. Cragg, lifting the lid, drew out
the two or three letters which she had laid loosely at the top. As she
did this, terror sent all the blood from her face.
For Cragg's voice sounded outside the room, calling:
"Dora! My dear! Where are you?"
Mrs. Cragg dared not stir, even to restore the letters.
"My dear!" called Cragg again; and then—"Pattie! Pat—tie, where are
you?"
He rapped at Pattie's door twice, tried to open it, and rapped a third
time. Another step then became audible outside, and Mrs. Cragg turned
sick with fright. Could it be Pattie already? Somehow Mrs. Cragg's
"rights" did not look so clear at that moment.
"Ann, where's Mrs. Cragg?"
Then it was only the girl, not Pattie. A revulsion of relief swept
over Mrs. Cragg.
"I don't know, sir. I think she's gone out."
"And Miss Dale?"
"Miss Pattie's out with Dot."
"Does Miss Pattie always leave her door locked?"
"No, sir, she don't."
"You're sure Mrs. Cragg is out?"
"No, sir, I ain't sure. Only, she don't seem to be nowhere."
"Well, when she comes in tell her I want to speak to her."
The voices ceased, but Mrs. Cragg could not at once recover herself.
She thrust the letters into her pocket, shut down the lid, and tried
to turn the key. It would not lock so readily as it would unlock, but
after several ineffectual struggles it gave way. Mrs. Cragg heard the
click of the hasp with delight. She put the keys into her pocket,
hastily lifted back the cardboard boxes, stood up, and listened. Steps
again. Mrs. Cragg's heart went into her mouth. This time it was Pattie
and Dot. No mistake about it.
"You'm doing to dive me that dee-ar lickle sodger, Pattie?"
"Yes, darling. I'll get my purse, and I'll buy him for you."
"He's dot a yed coat on, Pattie."
"Such a grand red coat," echoed Pattie.
Mrs. Cragg's heart stood still. Pattie turned the handle, and the door
refused to open.
"Why, it is locked! How funny!"
"Ma-ma doned it," Dot said promptly.
"Why should ma-ma lock it, Dot? How funny!" repeated Pattie.
"Something must be wrong with the door, I think. It seemed all right
this morning. Well, never mind. I'll get you the red soldier
by-and-by, when I can have my purse. We'll take another little turn
now, till ma-ma comes home, and then we'll tell her about the lock.
Come, dear."
Again the voices ceased. Mrs. Cragg strained her hearing to listen.
She heard the front door open and close. Then she slipped out,
shutting the door behind her, and fleeing upstairs to her own room.
She would not attempt at once to read the letters in her possession,
but put them into an under pocket, and hurriedly donned her walking
things. On her way to the front door she encountered the girl.
"Please, 'm, Mr. Cragg wants to see yer."
"Where is he, Ann?"
"I dunno. He come all round, hunting for yer."
"Oh, well; I can go out that way."
"And he tried to get into Miss Pattie's room, and he couldn't open the
door. She was out, and the door was fastened."
"What on earth could it have been fastened for?" asked Mrs. Cragg,
trying to speak with indifference. She was conscious of failure,
however, conscious of a very red face and a disquieted manner, and she
saw, or thought she saw, that the girl eyed her curiously. She would
have preferred to avoid an interview with her husband just then, but
no doubt he would ask later if his message had been given, and she did
not wish to arouse a spirit of inquiry. So she walked through the
warehouse, hoping not to meet Cragg. Her hopes were vain, for she came
plump upon him. Cragg looked up at her abstractedly, and then his gaze
grew interested.
"Has anything happened, my dear?"
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head, and increased in redness.
"Anything happened! What should happen, I should like to know?"
"I thought you looked as if something was not right."
"Well, something isn't. I don't want to be kept here, wasting my
time."
Mr. Cragg felt disposed to make a useless remark on the small amount
of time thus wasted. He refrained because it would be useless.
"If you've anything to say, you can make haste. I want to go out."
"Ann told me you were out some time ago."
"That don't hinder me wanting to go again now." Mrs. Cragg flattered
herself that she had avoided telling an untruth, not realising the
falsity of that little word "again."
"Where have you been?"
"I haven't been far; I'm going farther now. Anything else you want
to know? I've got no time to waste."
"My dear"—Cragg spoke nervously—"I want to show you this. I want
to know if it really is yours, because if it is—"
He held up a bill before her eyes, and Mrs. Cragg shoved it aside.
"Really, Mr. Cragg, I haven't got time for bills this morning."
"I'm afraid you'll have to find time. It's a bill 'rendered,' you see.
No items given. You must have had it by you, unpaid, for some time.
And not only that, but you will have to find the money too, if this
sort of thing goes on. I cannot meet such demands."
"Pooh, Mr. Cragg! A paltry fifteen pounds! And everybody knows what
you're worth."
"A good deal better than I know it myself, most likely. What are the
fifteen pounds for?"
"How should I know? Whose is it? Wakeforth & Co.? I suppose it is my
green velveteen jacket, and—a few other things."
"Dora, you will have to make a change. I am not a rich man. My
business has been less successful the last two years than it used
to be. There are more rivals now, and younger men with newer methods.
I cannot afford this sort of thing."
"And you must needs go and build houses that tumble down in a week
and take up people that aren't your own!"
"The first was a mistake; the second was a duty."
Mrs. Cragg walked away, and Cragg, with a hopeless gesture, thrust the
bill into his pocket. What could he do?
Some hours later, in the course of that same day, Mrs. Cragg sat alone
in her bedroom. She had taken the precaution to lock her door.
Mr. Cragg was still busy in the warehouse, and Dot was occupied with
Pattie. She had waited till now to examine the letters, and all three
lay upon her knee.
The first of the three which she read was as follows:—
"DEAR DALE,—"
"Will you come round this evening at eight? I have something
of great importance to say. I hope from the bottom of my heart
that it is nothing—that all will prove to be right. But I am
very uneasy. Pray come punctually."
"Yours sincerely,"
"J. PETERSON."
The second letter bore a date some three or four days later.
"DEAR DALE,—"
"I have gone into the matter very closely, making the most
careful examination in every possible quarter; and, grieved
as I am to say such words, everything points the same way.
No one except yourself has had the opportunity. The whole
suspicion rests upon you, and upon you alone."
"I see no other possibility. If a loophole existed, no matter
how improbable, I would give you the full benefit of the
doubt; but absolutely none is to be found. What have you
to say? Better far, from every point of view, that you should
make a clean breast of the whole!"
"Tell me that you have been in difficulties; that sudden
temptation seized you; that your strength was inadequate
to resist; that you have done wrongly, and repent—tell me
so much, and I am ready to forgive. Make frank confession,
and though I cannot retain you in your present post, I will
see what can be done. I will do my best to give you a fair
opportunity to retrieve your character. For the sake of
your child, as well as for your own sake, I entreat you
to confess all."
"Yours ever,"
"J. PETERSON."
The third letter was that at which Mrs. Cragg had already
glanced. It ran thus:—
"DEAR SIR,—"
"I have received and read yours with the deepest concern,
and there is now little more to be said."
"Unhappily, I am unable to feel as I could wish to do about
your assurances. Everything points in the one direction,
and I fear there is no doubt whatever of your guilt."
"Since you say that you have not done it, and declare
yourself incapable of any such act, I can only reply that
I sincerely wish things may be so. I have resolved not
to prosecute, but it is impossible that I should keep
you on in your old post. Much as I regret to have
to dismiss you, after all these years that we have worked
together, I have no choice."
"Your next quarter's stipend will be paid in advance, but
I cannot ask you to come again to the counting-house, nor
can I wish to see you again. It is a sad ending to so long
a friendship. The loss of the money to me personally is a
minor matter. If, by-and-by, you come to a different mind,
and if you are willing to make full confession, you will
find me ready to act the part of a friend, and forgiveness
will await you. Not, of course, re-instatement. That is
impossible, for the sake of others."
I shall mention to no one the reason of your dismissal;
but I fear that the matter will to some extent ooze out,
through the various inquiries which it has been necessary
to make."
"Yours faithfully,"
"J. PETERSON."