JUDITH FORD
Now, it so happened that while Christian and Rose were struggling to
get back to their homes, Miss Neil, Miss Thompson, and poor nurse were
nearly at their wits' ends.
When Miss Neil had missed Christian on the day before, she had rushed
at once to the bookstall, for she knew that the young girl adored
books, and she felt certain that she would find her there. But of
course no Christian was to be found. The porters were asked, and even
the stationmaster came out and a thorough and complete search was made;
but by this time Christian herself was far away; as poor Miss Neil
said, she had vanished like smoke off the face of the earth.
A truly terrible day followed. It was impossible to communicate with
Mr. and Mrs. Mitford, and yet the child must be found without delay. By
twelve o'clock the whole affair was put into the hands of the police.
Rewards were offered, and advertisements were issued far and wide all
over London. It was in consequence of this fact that poor Christian was
so terrified by the advertisement at the police-station.
These advertisements were got ready very quickly, and it so happened
that late on the evening of the very day when Christian had disappeared
Judith Ford saw one of them. Judith read it with great interest, and as
she did so a pleased sensation crept round her heart. She was the sort
of girl to do nothing except with an eye to the main chance. It was
entirely because she hoped to make money that she had helped Christian
and Rose. Now it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps, after all, it
might be her best plan to try to obtain "the substantial reward" which
was offered to anyone who would find the missing children. Although
she had fully intended to possess herself of the greater part of
Christian's little purse, yet this might mean a still more profitable
transaction. She therefore made up her mind to go that very night to
Russell Square and tell Miss Thompson and the nurse where the children
were to be found.
But when Judith reached her mother's house she came into the midst of a
family catastrophe. One of her brothers had been badly hurt in a fall
from a ladder. He happened to be Judith's favorite brother, and even
she forgot her avarice in the agony she experienced when she saw him
lying insensible and evidently in danger.
But when by and by the boy was removed to the hospital, and quiet
reigned once again in the family, Judith remembered the advertisement
and what it might mean for her. It was too late that night to go to see
Miss Thompson, but early the next morning--soon after eight o'clock--a
stoutly built girl might have been seen mounting the steps of the great
house in Russell Square.
"I am Judith Ford," she said to the butler, "and I want a lydy of the
name of Thompson. You stir yourself now and bring her down to me. You
think nought of me, no doubt, but I've got that which you'd give your
eyes for. Hurry up and get the lydy down, for I'm the person she's
a-wanting to see."
The butler looked indignant, but as Judith did not mind this in the
least, and as her face expressed a good deal of resolution, and wore
also a most knowing air, he decided to admit her.
Whatever he said to Miss Thompson brought that lady, and also nurse,
down very quickly.
"I know where the two children are," said Judith. "I know it for the
best of good reasons, because I was with 'em, poor dears! I warned 'em
all I could not to do it, but they wouldn't listen to me. They're in
quite a respectable place, and I meant to come straight and tell you
last night, but my brother Joe nearly died from a fall from a ladder.
I can take you to the children, and I will. What is the money you are
going to give me? I want a good lot. No one else can find them, but I
can."
"We'll give you five pounds," said Miss Thompson. "Be quick; there
isn't an instant to lose. Judson, please call a four-wheeler."
But Judith planted her feet firmly on the rug.
"'Taint to be done," she said. "I won't go for no five pounds. I want
ten--not a penny less. Why, I could get more than that from Miss
Christian; aint she got it in a little bag under her skirt?"
"Oh, the darling!" cried nurse, nearly bursting into tears. "And didn't
I make the bag, and tell her how to wear it, and----"
"Most like there aint much of the money left by now," said Judith. "It
wasn't my fault as your Miss Christian ran away. I got 'em both into
a respectable room, and I meant to help 'em. But you have offered a
'substantial reward,' and a substantial reward means ten pounds or it
means nothing at all. Is it yes or no?"
"It's yes, of course," said Miss Thompson. "Nurse, not a word; the
child must be found. Judson, call a cab; and you must come with us. You
will sit on the box, Judson."
Judith smiled grimly. She was having things pretty much her own way.
Really this adventure was turning out well.
Soon nurse and Miss Thompson were seated in a four-wheeler. Judith
faced them, and Judson took his place on the box with all the dignity
he could muster. Judith now enjoyed herself vastly.
"Look slippy," she said to the cabby; "I'll tell yer where to go. Drive
first to Paddington Station, and then take the first turning to the
left, then the second to right then first to left again. You'll find
yourself in a low part, but never you mind that. When you get to the
fifth turn to the left you stop, and I'll get on the box and order you
where to go. Oh, yes, there'll be room for me, as well as his lordship
the butler. Now then, hurry up."
The cabman whipped up his horse, and the cab was jolted forward. Miss
Thompson, in her agony of mind, clutched nurse's hand.
By and by they reached Paddington Station, and the cabman took the
turns that Judith indicated. Judith herself now sat with her head and
half of her body out of the window, shouting directions. At last the
cab drew up.
"I can't go any farther," said the cabby, looking round at Judith.
"Frightened, be yer?" said that young woman. "Now, then, lydies, you
keep quiet. We be going into rough places, but never mind; _I'll_ be on
the box."
She scrambled up and squeezed herself between Judson and the cabby.
Judson had never felt so insulted in his life, but Judith did not mind
that.
"Turn to your right," she cried to the cabman. "Now to the left; now
down that street. A bit bobby, are yer? No call to be. You look slippy!
You're a bit of a soft, aint yer, cabby?"
The cabman chaffed Judith, and Judith chaffed him back. Judson, with
his arms folded, sat as though he were a statue.
By and by they stopped at a street which led into a court called
Paradise Court. It was in this awful court that the poor children had
spent the night. Judith now sprang from the box and opened the door.
"Out you get, lydies," she said. "The butler can walk behind."
She swept her hand towards Judson as she spoke.
"You and me," she continued, turning to Miss Thompson, "and t'old nurse
can keep together in front. We'll keep nurse atween us, being the most
ancient of the party. There aint nought to fear. This night will have
done 'em both a sight of good. They want to be shown how wicked they
was when they left their comferable homes."
By and by the little party reached the house where the children had
lodged, and very slowly they went upstairs. They reached the top
landing, and here Judith with a vigorous kick pushed Christian's room
door open. The sight within was not calculated to reassure either nurse
or Miss Thompson. For Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Peters from below-stairs
had evidently come to an amicable arrangement, and were now finishing
the provisions left in the attic by the two children. Furthermore, the
half-crown which Christian had laid on the table had been expended on
beer and sausages. The sausages were frying on the fire, and the kettle
was boiling.
Nothing could exceed the horror of this scene to poor Miss Thompson. As
to nurse, she was now so fearfully anxious about Christian that she had
no time to be alarmed or shocked on any other count.
"Where is my child--my darling?" she cried. "Where have you hidden her?
Oh, you bad women, what have you done with my pet? Tell me at once."
"Highty-tighty!" cried Mrs. Carter, jumping to her feet and putting
her arms akimbo; "and who may you be?"
"You know who I am, at any rate," said Judith. "And, let me tell you,
this is my room, for I paid for it with money of the realm. So out of
it you go. Where have you put those young lydies? These two lydies have
come along for 'em, and they're going to pay me well--and better than
well--so you must bring 'em out from where you have hidden 'em. Where
are they?"
"Sakes!" cried Mrs. Carter, who had not recognized Judith at first,
and now thought it best to humor her, "there's no need to get into a
fluster. The young uns have gone. Notwithstanding the rare kindness
with which they was treated, they walked out nearly an hour and a half
ago; and where they are now dear only knows, for I don't."
Judith asked a few more pertinent questions; then she turned to Miss
Thompson. Her face looked decidedly frightened.
"We've got to follow 'em," she said. "Of course, we'll soon overtake
'em. Let's go back to the cab, and be quick."
They went downstairs. Miss Thompson described her feelings afterwards
as those of a person who was stunned.
"I could not have felt worse if I had heard that Christian was dead,"
she said; "and the awful thing was that her father and mother were
away. If they had been at home I might have borne it."
Now, while these good people were searching high and low for the
missing children, the children themselves were having a very bad time.
How it happened they did not know, but when they had finished their
meal--their warm and delicious meal of fried fish and fried potatoes
and hot, strong, sweet cocoa--they became wonderfully sleepy--so
sleepy that they could not keep their eyes open. And the man who had
looked after them and ordered them food, and had really seemed quite
attentive and kind, and, as Rosy expressed it, most respectable,
suggested that they should stay just where they were and have "their
little snooze out."
"You are fair done," he said. "I don't know what kind of a night you
had, but hungrier children I never saw; and now, I may add, I never saw
sleepier. You have your sleep out, and I'll come back in an hour or so.
I'll go and have a smoke. It's early yet in the day, and we'll get to
Bloomsbury and that big square you spoke of in less than no time; so
have your sleep out now."
Christian said afterwards that of course she ought not to have yielded,
but she really scarcely knew what she was doing; her head would fall
forward and her eyes would close. Presently she found herself leaning
against Rosy, and Rosy found herself leaning against Christian, and
unconsciousness stole over them.
They never knew how long they slept, but when they did come to
themselves, and Christian, rubbing her eyes, looked around her, and
Rosy, sitting up, exclaimed "Oh, dear!" several times, they neither of
them recognized their surroundings. For they were far away from the
eating-house; they were in the open air, sitting side by side, two
most desolate little objects, in the midst of a great builder's yard.
They were leaning up against a huge building, and there were stacks
and stacks of wood close to them, and the pleasant smell of newly sawn
wood not far off. And there was the whir of a saw also in their ears.
But how had they got there? And where was _there_? In what part of the
whole wide world were they now?
"Oh, Rosy, what is it?" said Christian.
"I don't know," said Rosy.
"I wonder if we are dead and this is----"
"Oh, this aint heaven!" said Rosy. "I never felt more frightened in all
my life. Where can we be?"
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! Can't you remember anything at all?" said
Christian. "I had a dream," she continued, rubbing her eyes as she
spoke. "I thought I was eating--oh, such good things!--and that,
however much I ate, I was still hungry. And then I dreamt that I was
sleepy, and I slept, and I wanted--oh, so badly!--to be back in my own
little bed at home; but all the things I wanted I couldn't get. Oh,
dear!" she added, with a bitter sigh, "I do remember now. We have run
away from home. We were at an eating-house. There was a man, and he
seemed quite respectable, and we fell asleep when we had eaten some
good things--fried fish and potatoes. But how have we got here?"
Rosy's dark eyes opened wide. She suddenly fell on her knees by
Christian's side and began to feel her.
"What are you doing now?" said Christian.
"Your pocket, Christian--the little pocket under your dress with the
gold."
"Oh, that's all right," said Christian. "No one knows of that."
She started up, although she felt very faint and giddy. She began to
feel under her dress. The next minute she uttered a cry.
"Oh, Rosy, it's gone! It's gone altogether. See! the string is cut,"
she added, lifting her skirt. "And I had two shillings in my upper
pocket, and that is gone too. All our money, Rosy--it's all gone."
"Then I understand," said Rosy briskly. "It's bad, but it might be
worse. We'll go straight home. We have been robbed. I don't know how
they did it, but they have done it. We'll go straight home, and at
once."
She had scarcely uttered the words before a good-natured-looking man
of the working-class, but with a very different expression from that
of the so-called respectable man, came towards them. He was holding
a bulldog in leash; and the bulldog, suddenly catching sight of the
children, strained to get near them and began to bark loudly.
"Hold that noise, Tiger," said the man; and then he came to the
children and looked at them.
Notwithstanding their torn and draggled and tired appearance, neither
Christian nor Rose looked like ordinary tramps. The man continued to
gaze at them attentively.
"However did you get here?" he said.
"Please, sir," said Rose, "will you be kind to us? We are two most
unhappy girls. We ran away from home yesterday, both of us--me from a
very humble home, and Miss Christian Mitford from her grand one. We
don't pretend that we are not the very worst young girls in the world,
but we're _that_ sorry, and we want to get back home again. We're so
sorry that we can't even speak of it."
"And we've been robbed," said Christian. "I had over seven pounds
when I left home, and it is gone. A man took it, I think, in an
eating-house."
"Why, bless me!" said the man, "you must be the very children who are
being advertised for all over London. Come, I'll see about this; I'll
soon put the matter straight for you."
The man tried to take Christian's hand, but she moved away from him.
"I--I am frightened," she said. "Is it true--is it--that the police can
lock us up?"
"Dear me!" said the man, with a laugh. "Whoever heard of such a thing?
No; of course it isn't true. You trust me and I'll see you safe back to
wherever you came from. Come along into the house. There's my mother;
she and I always live in the yard, for it's wonderful how folks do
manage to creep into a builder's yard and steal things. Come along,
little ladies. She'll give you both a cup of tea. Oh, dear, this is a
find!"
As the man spoke Christian lost all fear of him, and even Rose looked
happy and comforted. So they followed him into a very little house,
where an old woman was bustling about.
"Well, Albert," she said, at the sight of the tall man, "and what is
the news now?"
"Rare good news for us, mother," was his answer. "Didn't I tell
you that we'd just get that money in the nick of time? And here it
is, mother. Here are the little hostages who will get us over our
difficulty."
As he spoke he drew Christian and Rose forward.
"The missing children," he said. "And when you have given them a cup
of hot tea each, and a bit of your celebrated hot toast, I'll take
them home. Make the tea strong, mother, for it's my belief the poor
creatures have been drugged."