THE LOST HEIR.
'Seemed to the boy some comrade gay
Led him forth to the woods to play.'--SCOTT.
Though it was the Derby day, Mr. Egremont's racing days were over, and
he only took his daughter with him in quest of the spectacles he
wanted. When they came back, Nuttie mounted to the nursery, but no
little brother met her on the stairs, and she found nurse in deep
displeasure with her subordinate.
'I sent him out with Ellen to play in the garden at Springfield, and
swim his ship, where he couldn't come to no harm,' said nurse; 'being
that my foot is that bad I can't walk the length of the street; and
what does the girl do but lets that there Gregorio take the dear child
and go--goodness knows where--without her.'
'I'm sure, ma'am,' said the girl crying, 'I would never have done it,
but Mr. Gregory said as how 'twas his papa's wish.'
'What was?' said Nuttie.
'That he shouldn't never go and play at Mr. Dutton's again,' said Ellen.
'I told her she was to take her orders off me, and no one else,'
returned nurse, 'except, of course, you, Miss Egremont, as has the
right.'
'Quite so; you should have told Mr. Gregorio so, Ellen.'
'I did, ma'am, but he said those was Mr. Egremont's orders; and he
said,' cried the girl, unable to withstand the pleasure of repeating
something disagreeable, 'that Mr. Egremont wouldn't have no messengers
between you and a low tradesman fellow, as made umbrellas, and wanted
to insinuate himself in here.'
'That's quite enough, Ellen; I don't want to hear any impertinences.
Perhaps you did not understand his foreign accent. Did he say where he
was going?'
'I think he said he'd take him to the Serpentine to sail his ship,'
said Ellen, disposed to carry on asseverations of the correctness of
her report, but nurse ordered her off the scene, and proceeded, as a
confidential servant, 'The girl had no call to repeat it; but there's
not a doubt of it he did say something of the sort. There's not one of
us but knows he is dead against Mr. Dutton, because he tried to get
master to get to sleep without that nasty opium smoke of his.'
There was bitter feud between nurse and valet, and Nuttie could have
exchanged with her many a lament, but she contented herself with
saying, 'I wish he would let Master Alwyn alone. It is high time they
should come in.'
'The child will be tired to death, and all dirt! His nice new sailor
suit too! Going grubbing about at the Serpentine with no one knows
who, as isn't fit for a young gentleman,' moaned nurse.
This, however, was the worst fear she entertained, and it was with a
certain malicious satisfaction that she heard her master's bell for
Gregorio.
Nuttie descended to explain, and whereas the need was not very urgent,
and she looked distressed and angered at the valet, her father received
her complaint with, 'Well, the boy is getting too big to be tied for
ever to a nursery-maid. It will do him good to go about with a man.'
But as dressing-time came on, and still neither Gregorio nor Alwyn
appeared, Mr. Egremont became impatient, and declared that the valet
had no business to keep the child out so long; indeed, he would sooner
have taken alarm but for Nuttie's manifest agony of anxiety, starting
and rushing to listen at every ring at the bell or sound of wheels near
at hand. At last, at eight o'clock, there was a peal of the servants'
bell, and the footman who answered it turned round to the anxious
crowd: 'Mr. Gregory! He just asked if the child was come home, and
went off like lightning.'
'The villain! He's lost him!' shrieked nurse, with a wild scream. 'Run
after him, James! Catch him up!' suggested the butler at the same
moment. 'Make him tell where he saw him last!'
James was not a genius, but the hall boy, an alert young fellow, had
already dashed down the steps in pursuit, and came up with the valet so
as to delay him till the other servants stood round, and Gregorio
turned back with them, pale, breathless, evidently terribly dismayed
and unwilling to face his master, who stood at the top of the steps,
white with alarm and wrath.
'Sir,' cried Gregorio, with a stammering of mixed languages, 'I have
been searching everywhere! I was going to give notice to the police.
Je ferai tout! Je le trouverai.'
'Where did you lose him?' demanded Mr. Egremont in a hoarse voice, such
as Nuttie had never heard.
'In the Park, near the bridge over the Serpentine. I was speaking for
a few moments to a friend. Bah! Il etait parti. Mais je le
trouverai. Parker, he seeks too. Fear not, sir, I shall find him.'
'Find him, you scoundrel, or never dare to see me again! I've borne
with your insolences long, and now you've brought them to a height. Go,
I say, find my boy!' exclaimed Mr. Egremont, with a fierce oath and
passionate gesture, and Gregorio vanished again.
'Bring the carriage--no, call a cab;' commanded Mr. Egremont, snatching
up his hat. 'Who is this Parker?'
The servants hesitated, but the butler said he believed the man to be a
friend of Gregorio's employed at one of the clubs. Nuttie meanwhile
begging her father not to go without her, flew upstairs to put on her
hat, and coming down at full speed found that Mr. Dutton, passing by
and seeing the open door and the terrified servants on the steps, had
turned in to ask what was the matter, and was hearing in no measured
terms from Mr. Egremont how the child had been taken away from his
nurse and lost in the Park while that scamp Gregorio was chattering to
some good-for-nothing friend.
To Nuttie's great relief, Mr. Dutton offered to go with the father to
assist in the search, and the coachman, far too anxious and excited to
let his master go without him in a cab, contrived to bring up the
carriage. Some of the servants were ordered off to the various police
offices. Poor nurse, who was nearly distracted, started in a hansom on
her own account, persuaded that she should see and recognise traces of
her darling at the scene of his loss, and she almost raced the
carriage, which was bound for the same spot.
Sluggish natures like Mr. Egremont's can sometimes be roused to great
violence, and then pour forth the long pent-up accumulations kept back
by indolence and indifference. His only occupation during the rapid
drive was to vituperate his valet, the curse of his life, he said. To
hear him talk, it would have seemed as if Gregorio had been the tyrant
who had kept him in bondage all these years, fully aware of his
falsehood, peculation, and other rascality, but as unable to break the
yoke as if he had been in truth the slave of anything but his own evil
habit and helpless acquiescence.
Would it last if Gregorio made his appearance at that instant with
Alwyn in his hand? Or even, as Mr. Dutton confidently predicted, a
policeman might bring the boy home, before many hours were passed. The
chief doubt here was that Alwyn's defective pronunciation, which had
been rather foolishly encouraged, might make it difficult to understand
his mode of saying his own name, or even that of the street, if he
knew it perfectly; but the year he had been absent from London had
prevented him from acquiring the curious ready local instinct of the
true town child, and he had been so much guarded and watched that he
was likely to be utterly at a loss when left alone; and Nuttie was
wretched at the thought of his terror and loneliness, even while Mr.
Dutton told her of speedy recoveries of lost children through kind
people or the police.
They found all the officials of the Park already aware and on the
alert, and quite certain of the impossibility of nurse's prime dread
that the boy had fallen into the water unseen by any one and been
drowned. She was even ready to look into every bush, in case he had
been frightened and hidden himself; and nothing would satisfy her but
to stay making these researches, when her master had decided on
endeavouring to find 'Parker' at the club, and to ascertain from him
particulars of time and place.
He was found there. The dinner-hour had brought him back, he being a
man in authority there, very well dressed and deferential, declaring
himself immensely distressed at the occurrence, and at having accosted
Gregorio and attracted his attention. It was about four o'clock, he
thought, and he described the exact spot where the little boy had been
sailing his vessel fastened to a string. They might have been talking
twenty minutes or half an hour when Gregorio missed his charge, and
since that time both had been doing all in their power to find him,
until half-past seven, when he had to return to his club, and Gregorio
went to see whether the child had been taken home.
By this time Mr. Egremont looked so utterly exhausted, that Mr. Dutton
availed himself of the hope that the boy might be found safe at home to
take him back; but alas! nothing had been heard there.
The poor man was in a restless, unmanageable state of excitement,
almost as terrifying to his daughter as the distress that occasioned
it. He swallowed a tumblerful of claret, but would not eat nor go to
bed; and indeed, Gregorio alone having had the personal charge of him,
latterly sleeping in his dressing-room, none of the other servants knew
what to do for him. Mr. Dutton agreed with her that it would be better
to send for his doctor, as probably he ought to have a sedative, and
neither would take the responsibility of giving it; while he himself
declared he neither would nor could rest till he had his boy again.
The doctor was dining out, and they had two terrible hours; while Mr.
Egremont paced to the windows; threw himself on the sofa; denounced
Gregorio; or, for a change, all the system of police which had made no
discovery; and Ursula for letting the boy be so helpless. Mr. Dutton
sometimes diverted his attention for a few minutes, and hoped he would
doze, but the least sound brought him to his feet again, and the only
congenial occupation was the composition of a description of poor
little Alwyn's person and dress, which set Nuttie crying so
uncontrollably, that she had to run out of the room.
Dr. Brownlow came at last, and was very kind and helpful, taking the
command, and insisting that Mr. Egremont should go to bed, and take the
dose which he mixed. Broadbent, the butler, was to take Gregorio's
place, but he was a ponderous man, without much tact, and unused to the
valet's office. 'I might just as well have a rhinoceros about me,'
said Mr. Egremont, in a fit of irritation; and it ended, Nuttie hardly
knew how, in Mr. Dutton's going upstairs to smooth matters. He came
down after a time and said: 'I am not satisfied to leave him alone or
to Broadbent; I have his consent to my sleeping in the dressing-room.
I am just going home to fetch my things. Let me find you gone when I
come back. You will hear no more to-night. Even if he is found, they
will keep him till morning.'
'It is of no use; I can't sleep.'
'Even if you don't, the mere restful position will make you fitter for
the morrow. Will you promise me to undress and really go to bed?'
'Oh yes! if you say I must,' said Nuttie drearily; following an
instinct of obedience.
'And remember,' he said, 'though I do not say it will be so, this may
be deliverance from bondage.'
'But what a terrible deliverance!'
'Bonds are not burst without something terrible. No; don't be
frightened. Remember there is safekeeping for that sweet little
fellow, wherever he may be.'
'Oh, Mr. Dutton, if I could pray for him; but the turmoil seems to have
driven away all such things! My boy, my boy, where is he now? Who has
heard him say his little prayers?'
'His Heavenly Father has; of that we may be secure. You will feel it
in the quiet of your own room. Good-night.'
'And I shall know you are praying, better than I can,' murmured Nuttie,
as she returned his good-night, and crept up to her chamber.