That morning after breakfast Aunt Marguerite sat by her open window in
her old-fashioned French _peignoir_.
She saw Pradelle go out, and she smiled and beamed as he turned to look
up at her window, and raised his hat before proceeding down into the
back lanes of the port to inveigle an urchin into the task of obtaining
for him a pot of ragworms for bait.
Soon after she saw her nephew go out, but he did not raise his head. On
the contrary, he bent it down, and heaved up his shoulders like a wet
sailor, as he went on to his office.
"_Mon pauvre enfant_!" she murmured, as she half closed her eyes, and
kissed the tips of her fingers. "But wait a while, Henri, _mon enfant_,
and all shall be well."
There was a lapse of time devoted to thought, and then Aunt Marguerite's
eyes glistened with malice, as she saw Madelaine approach.
"Pah!" she ejaculated softly. "This might be Amsterdam or the Boompjes.
Wretched Dutch wench! How can George tolerate her presence here!"
Then Pradelle came back, but he did not look up this time, merely went
to the door and entered, his eyes looking searchingly about as if in
search of Louise.
Lastly, a couple of particularly unseamanlike men, dressed in shiny
tarpaulin hats and pea-jackets, with earrings and very smooth pomatumy
hair, came into sight. Each man carried a pack and a big stick, and as
they drew near their eyes wandered over window and door in a
particularly searching way.
They did not come to the front, but in a slouching, furtive way went
past the front of the house and round to the back, where the next minute
there was a low tapping made by the knob of a stick on a door, and soon
after a buzzing murmur of voices arose.
Aunt Marguerite had nothing whatever to do, and the murmur interested
her to the extent of making her rise, go across her room, and through a
door at the back into her bed-chamber, where an open lattice window had
a chair beneath, and the said window being just over the back entrance
from whence the murmur came, Aunt Marguerite had nothing to do but go
and sit down there unseen, and hear every word that was said.
"Yes," said the familiar voice of brown-faced, black-haired Liza;
"they're beautiful, but I haven't got the money."
"That there red ribbon 'd just soot you, my lass," said a deep voice, so
fuzzy that it must have come from under a woollen jacket.
"Just look at that there hankychy, too," said another deep voice. "Did
you ever see a better match?"
"Never," said the other deep voice emphatically.
"Yes, they're very lovely, but I ain't got the money. I let mother have
all I had this week."
"Never mind the gashly money, my lass," said the first deep-voiced man
huskily, "ain'tcher got nothing you can sell?"
Then arose a good deal of murmuring whisper, and Aunt Marguerite's lips
became like a pale pink line drawn across the lower part of her face,
and both her eyes were closely shut.
"Well, you wait," was the concluding sentence of the whispered trio, and
then the door was heard to shut.
The click of a latch rose to where Aunt Marguerite sat, and then there
was a trio once again--a whispered trio--ending with a little rustling,
and the sound of heavy steps.
Then the door closed, and Liza, daughter of Poll Perrow, the fish-woman,
who carried a heavy maund by the help of a strap across her forehead,
hurried up to her bedroom, and threw herself upon her knees as she
spread two or three yards of brilliant red ribbon on the bed, and
tastefully placed beside the ribbon an orange silk kerchief, whose
united colours made her dark eyes sparkle with delight.
The quick ringing of a bell put an end to the colour-worship, and Liza,
with a hasty ejaculation, opened her box, thrust in her new treasures,
dropped the lid, and locked it again before hurrying down to the
dining-room, where she found her young mistress, her master, and
Madelaine Van Heldre.
"There was some change on the chimney-piece, Liza," said Louise. "Did
you see it?"
"No, miss."
"It is very strange. You are quite sure you did not take it, papa?"
"Quite, my clear."
"That will do, Liza."
The girl went out, looking scared.
"It is very strange," said Vine.
"Yes, clear; and it is a great trouble to me. This is the third time
money has been missing lately. I don't like to suspect people, but one
seems to be forced."
"But surely, Louie, dear, that poor girl would not take it."
"I have always tried to hope not, Maddy," said Louise sadly.
"You had better make a change."
"Send her away, father? How can I do that? How can I recommend her for
another situation?"
"Ah! it's a puzzle--it's a puzzle," said Vine irritably. "One of the
great difficulties of domestic service. I shall soon begin to think
that your Uncle Luke is right after all. He has no troubles, eh,
Louise?"
She looked up in his face with a peculiar smile, but made no reply. Her
father, however, seemed to read her look, and continued,
"Ah, well, I dare say you are right, my dear; we can't get away from
trouble; and if we don't have one kind we have another. Get more than
our share, though, in this house."
Louise smiled in his face, and the comical aspect of chagrin displayed
resulted in a general laugh.
"Is one of the sea-anemones dead?"
"Yes, confound it! and it has poisoned the water, so that I am afraid
the rest will go."
"I think we can get over that trouble," said Louise, laughing. "It will
be an excuse for a pleasant ramble with you."
"Yes," said Vine dryly, "but we shall not get over the trouble of the
thief quite so well. I'm afraid these Perrows are a dishonest family.
I'll speak to the girl."
"No, father, leave it to me."
"Very well, my child; but I think you ought to speak."
The old man left the room, the bell was rung, and Liza summoned, when a
scene of tears and protestations arose, resulting in a passionate
declaration that Liza would tell her mother, that she would not stop in
a house where she was going to be suspected, and that she had never
taken anybody's money but her own.
"This is the third time that I have missed money, Liza, or I would not
have spoken. If you took it, confess like a good girl, and we'll
forgive you if you promise never to take anything of the kind again."
"I can't confess, miss, and won't confess," sobbed the girl. "Mother
shall come and speak to you. I wouldn't do such a thing."
"Where did you get the money with which you bought the red ribbon and
orange kerchief this morning, Liza?" said a voice at the door.
All started to see that Aunt Marguerite was there looking on, and
apparently the recipient of all that had been said.
Liza stood with eyes dilated, and jaw dropped.
"Then you've been at my box," she suddenly exclaimed. "All, what a
shame!"
"At your box, you wretched creature!" said Aunt Marguerite
contemptuously. "Do you suppose I should go into your room?"
"You've been opening my box," said the girl again, more angrily; "and
it's a shame."
"I saw her take them up to her room, Louise. My dear, she was buying
them under my window, of some pedlar. You had better send her away."
Liza did not wait to be sent away from the room, but ran out sobbing, to
hurry up-stairs to her bed-chamber, open her box, and see if the
brilliant specimens of silken fabric were safe, and then cry over them
till they were blotched with her tears.
"A bad family," said Aunt Marguerite. "I'm quite sure that girl stole
my piece of muslin lace, and gave it to that wretched woman your Uncle
Luke encourages."
"No, no, aunt, you lost that piece of lace one day when you were out."
"Nonsense, child! your memory is not good. Who is that with you? Oh, I
see; Miss Van Heldre."
Aunt Marguerite, after suddenly becoming aware of the presence of
Madelaine, made a most ceremonious curtsy, and then sailed out of the
room.
"Louise must be forced to give up the companionship of that wretched
Dutch girl," she said as she reached her own door, at which she paused
to listen to Liza sobbing.
"I wonder what Miss Vine would have been like," thought Madelaine, "if
she had married some good sensible man, and had a large family to well
employ her mind?" Then she asked herself what kind of man she would
have selected as possessing the necessary qualifications, and concluded
that he should have been such a man as Duncan Leslie, and wondered
whether he would marry her friend.
"Why, Madelaine," said Louise, breaking her chain of thought, "what are
you thinking about?"
"Thinking about?" said the girl, starting, and colouring slightly. "Oh,
I was thinking about Mr Leslie just then."
Volume 1, Chapter XII.