PURSUIT
THE explanation of that coming of Daniel Meggison to the yacht is a
very simple one. He had seen for himself that the game could not last
very much longer; he knew that in all probability Byfield would fling
caution to the winds, and expose the trick that Meggison and his son
were playing. Therefore he watched that young man with more anxiety
than he really showed; despite the bravado he displayed, Meggison was
really in deadly fear of what was to happen.
The sudden going of Gilbert from the house, while it might have allayed
the suspicions of a less cunning man than Meggison, only served to
increase them in his case. He felt that in all probability Byfield had
but gone away to seek advice or assistance; Meggison began to think
that after all the game had been played a little too boldly, and a
little too extravagantly. He blamed himself that he had not been more
cautious; they might then have hung on for quite a long time.
Prying about the house, in the hope to discover something, Daniel
Meggison became aware of the fact that no one seemed in the least
surprised at Byfield's departure. True, a question was asked by Simon
Quarle, but no definite answer given; Mr. and Mrs. Stocker paid no
attention to chance visitors. The astounding thing to Daniel Meggison
was that Bessie took no notice of Gilbert's departure, but went about
the house singing gaily, and evidently very busy over something in her
room. She flitted backwards and forwards to that room with an air of
great mystery.
Meggison summoned courage at last to mount the stairs, and to set off
in search of her. At the very door of the room, as he knocked, he was
confronted by Bessie, who had opened it at that very moment; she smiled
at him, and beckoned him in, and closed the door again.
"My child," he whispered with deep anxiety--"what is happening?"
"Father dear, I'm running away," she said, with eyes dancing like those
of a child. "And you are going to run away with me."
"But why, my dear? Why leave the beauties of the country?--why run away
at all? Please explain," he pleaded.
"Sit down here, father, while I go on with my packing," she
commanded--"and I'll tell you all about it. It's so wonderful that
you'll scarcely believe it at first; so strange that it would be hard
for anyone to believe it. Please don't interrupt me--because I shall
have things to pack for you presently, before we run away together."
"I am of a singularly patient nature," said Daniel Meggison, seating
himself and folding his hands. "Pray proceed, Bessie."
She proceeded then glibly enough to tell him of all that had happened;
of how the Prince of that fairy tale that had come true so strangely
had come down there, and had told her that he loved her. There was
much that she could not tell her father, beyond the bald fact; but he
would understand, and he would know that when the Prince commanded, his
willing slave must follow.
"He wanted me to run away with him out into the world--to sail far over
the sea with him in this yacht that has been lent to him by a friend,"
said Bessie, on her knees beside one of the new trunks, busily folding
garments. "But of course that wouldn't do at all--because, although I
know Gilbert perfectly, and know how good he is, ladies mustn't travel
about with gentlemen in that promiscuous way. More than all, it is
necessary of course that a certain poor old father, quite incapable
of looking after himself, should not be left behind; therefore that
father comes in, as usual, very happily." She jumped up at that point,
specially to kiss the old reprobate, who was thinking long thoughts.
"Wise little Bessie!" he said, patting her head. "I might have known
that you would make no mistake over a matter of that kind. And so
friend Byfield wants to take away his bride that is to be, and give
her a little holiday on the sea--eh? Well--that seems a very excellent
idea, and I promise you that you shall not find your poor old father in
the way. But a word of warning, my Bessie!" He turned in his chair, and
faced his daughter solemnly.
"Yes, father dear?"
"Not a word to anyone else--not a syllable!" he whispered. "Let us
slip away together, leaving the other people in comfort here; we can
write to them from some foreign port. Because, you see, we don't want
to annoy our friend Byfield; and he might not have accommodation for
everybody on this wonderful yacht. Your brother and the others will be
very comfortable here; but as we do not wish to make them envious, we
will say nothing about our new plans."
"But when they find we're gone, they'll naturally be worried to know
what has become of us," urged Bessie.
"True, my child, most true," he responded. "On second thoughts, it
would perhaps be better to leave a note for them--a carefully worded
diplomatic note--not giving too much information, but just enough.
Leave that to me. I'll go and get the few things together that I shall
need, and you can come and help me presently. Newhaven, did you say?
I'm all excitement. It's a splendid notion!"
The matter of getting from the house was not after all so great a
difficulty as may be imagined, for the simple reason that that astute
servant in charge of the place saw in this packing up merely the
exodus of extraordinary tenants, one of whom at least had been most
undesirable. That they should demand that the thing be done secretly
seemed under the circumstances reasonable enough; so that the luggage
was actually smuggled out of the house, and taken out to a back gate,
where a hired carriage was waiting.
"I've left the note in a prominent position, explaining enough to set
their minds at rest," said Daniel Meggison, chuckling to himself as he
got into the carriage with the girl.
Mr. Daniel Meggison understood, of course, exactly what had happened;
saw, or thought he saw, that Gilbert had cunningly determined to
lift Bessie neatly out of all the business, and leave the others to
face the music as best they might. Daniel felt certain that secret
instructions had been given to the servants at the house--instructions
which were not to include Bessie; and that Gilbert Byfield had made up
his mind to play a new game for himself alone. It is probable that on
the score of morality alone Daniel Meggison did not regard the matter
seriously; but this proposed desertion of himself was little short of a
crime.
"After this," he though to himself, "I'll put the screw on a bit. He
thinks he'll play fast and loose with me; he thinks he'll leave me
in the lurch--does he? He doesn't know poor old Daniel! Bessie's the
ticket--and I'll stick to her through thick and thin--poor child! After
all, it's rather lucky that she loves her father so fondly!"
As we already know they arrived on board the yacht _Blue Bird_ in due
course, something to the astonishment of Gilbert Byfield, and giving
him a new problem to be faced. So far as the note that had been written
by Daniel Meggison was concerned--a mere shadowy trail, indicating
vaguely the way they had taken--that was to be found some hours later
by Mr. Aubrey Meggison.
Now, Aubrey had discovered for the first time on the previous day the
real secret of that mysterious fortune the origin of which had more
than puzzled him from the first. He was not a brilliant youth, but he
knew enough to understand that his father was probably the last man in
the world ever to have money to speculate with, or ever to be lucky
in any impossible speculation in which he might indulge. Aubrey had
been willing enough to accept his share of that impossible fortune,
and to shut his eyes resolutely to everything outside the actual good
realities that came to him; but he had a feeling that in some fashion
a crash would come, involving him with the rest, in the near future.
The conversation he had overheard between Daniel and Gilbert Byfield
had given him the clue; and he had sprung to his father's rescue with
the instinct of one who desires to save himself first of all. But from
that moment it became necessary that he should watch the source of the
unexpected wealth, the better to be sure that that source did not run
dry.
He knew that Gilbert was in a mood to kick over the traces; he was not
surprised to find that the master of the house at Fiddler's Green had
suddenly gone. But when he discovered that Daniel Meggison and Bessie
were also missing, he began to be possessed by a great fear; and when a
little later he discovered the note that had been left by his father,
that fear was changed at once into a certainty of disaster.
The note had been left to him, as the eldest son, as a species of
baneful legacy; it lay upon his dressing-table.
"MY DEAR AUBREY,
"You will have gathered, from the conversation you
accidentally overheard yesterday, that our good friend
Mr. Byfield is naturally restive at the prospect of
providing for the wants not of one person alone, but of
a family. In that restiveness I cordially agree with
him; I feel that it is time a growing lad--or youth--or
young man--whichever you prefer--should be doing
something to provide for his own wants. Mr. Byfield is
interested in the welfare of your sister, and I foresee
for her an alliance in the future which will lift her
into that sphere to which I have always felt the family
should properly belong.
"Mr. Byfield understands that father and child must
not be separated; therefore I accompany Bessie. We
are about to start on a voyage, but our ultimate
destination is unknown; it will, however, probably be
some foreign port. Let me advise you, my son, to keep a
stout heart, and to wrest from the world that portion
which belongs equally to every one of her sons. I shall
expect to hear that you are doing well, and are a
credit to the family whose name you bear."
Your father,
"DANIEL MEGGISON."
Aubrey Meggison remained for some minutes plunged in gloom after
reading the letter; then he said some uncomplimentary things concerning
that father who had been so willing to desert him. Child of that
father, however, he came quickly to the conclusion that something
must be done. He shivered at the thought of being left alone in the
world--even such a world as that of Arcadia Street--with no one to feed
him, and with no convenient Bessie from whom to borrow half-crowns and
shillings.
"Only thing to be done, as far as I can see, is to stick to the
guv'nor," he murmured disconsolately. "The guv'nor'll stick to Bessie,
and I suppose Bessie'll stick to that bounder Byfield. Well, there'll
be a nice string of us; and even if I am at the tail-end of it, I don't
mean to be dropped. Only thing is--where have they gone to?"
He knew that it was quite useless to raise a hue and cry, because that
would have set others on the track, and so have spoilt his own game. He
determined to make cautious inquiries, and in the meantime to appear
quite unsuspicious. And it happened that he received assistance from an
unexpected quarter.
Mrs. Ewart-Crane had had a sleepless night. She saw herself flouted and
laughed at by this slip of a girl who had been picked out of a certain
slum called Arcadia Street--saw in imagination that imp of common
wickedness known as Bessie Meggison setting her at naught, and leading
Gilbert Byfield where she would. Mrs. Ewart-Crane thought of her
daughter, and of that daughter's future--felt that this boy-and-girl
courtship of years before should be made a binding thing once for
all. If Mr. Gilbert Byfield did not know what was due to himself and
his friends, he must be taught; and Mrs. Ewart-Crane, as a lady and a
mother (for so she reckoned herself, in that order and in those actual
words) was the one to teach him.
Rising after that troubled night, she determined to wait until the
unlucky Jordan Tant should put in an appearance; she meant to seize
upon him as a convenient messenger. It happened, however, that Mr.
Jordan Tant was quite content to let well alone; he believed that
Gilbert was gone, and was safely out of the way for a considerable time
to come. Tant would very gladly have carried the ladies back to London
in due course, there to teach them to forget the existence of any such
person as Gilbert Byfield.
With this object in view, Mr. Jordan Tant, suspecting that he might
be wanted in the business, kept out of the way; so that it happened
that it was quite late in the afternoon--long after repeated messages
had been sent down to the inn to summon him--that he put in a sheepish
appearance at the cottage where dwelt Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter.
Mrs. Ewart-Crane may be said to have seized him in no uncertain
fashion, and to have pointed the way. He protested and pleaded; but all
to no purpose. Mrs. Ewart-Crane demanded to know what had happened or
was happening; and her dignity forbade that she should take any active
part in the matter personally. Clearly Jordan Tant was the man sent by
Providence for such a purpose.
So Jordan Tant went--and Jordan Tant arrived at the house at the very
moment when the whole discovery had burst upon that house. Mr. Gilbert
Byfield himself, as an apparent visitor, might not have been missed;
but Bessie--the very head and front of everything--and Daniel Meggison,
whose dictatorial tones had been heard everywhere at all times and
seasons in that house; these were the people to be missed indeed. Mrs.
Stocker complained first of discourteous behaviour on the part of host
and hostess; later on became suspicious that all was not well, and
wondered sarcastically if her brother had gone in search of yet another
fortune. This suggestion she made with an accompaniment of sniffs and
folded hands, and some pursing of lips.
Still Aubrey Meggison was discreetly silent. He wanted to find out what
had happened, solely on his own account; he wanted to know what had
become of that father who had so basely deserted him; but on the other
hand he did not want, as he tersely expressed it, "a crowd."
Simon Quarle sprang into the very heart of the matter, strident-tongued
and fierce. It was his Bessie that was concerned, and he passionately
swept aside any suggestion that anyone else might be injured. Where was
she?--and what was being done?--those were the questions to which he
demanded an instant answer--questions which he shook before the faces
of all with whom he came in contact.
Mr. Tant, coming in the guise of a friend of Mr. Gilbert Byfield,
was seized upon eagerly as someone having information. What did he
know?--and what was he prepared to tell? Mr. Tant looked round on
the eager faces, and feeling that for once he held a position of
importance, waved the questioners aside, and declined to answer.
"I know nothing of Mr. Byfield's movements," he said. "There certainly
has been a suggestion that he might be leaving here shortly--but beyond
that I know nothing."
"Does nobody know anything?" wrathfully demanded Mrs. Stocker, glaring
at her husband as though she fully expected that mild little man to be
hiding important information in his quaking breast. "Are we all to be
treated in this fashion, and no explanations to be given whatever?"
It was at that moment that the vanity which possessed Mr. Aubrey
Meggison overcame all other feelings, and demanded to have speech.
Aubrey had up to this moment been ignored; more than that, he had been
ignored by this aristocratic-looking, well-dressed stranger. He thrust
his way into the circle, elbowing out of it Mr. Edward Stocker, as
being the weakest there, and faced Mr. Jordan Tant.
"Seein' that everybody seems to be at sixes and sevens, and not quite
to know what they're talkin' about, it mightn't be a bad idea if what
I might call the last representative of the family put in a spoke.
There's a lot of jawin' goin' on--and yet nobody seems to know anything
at all. If I might say a word, p'raps I could elucidate what seems
to be regarded as a bit of a mystery, but which ain't, mind you, any
mystery at all."
"Why--what in the world do _you_ know about it?" demanded Mrs. Stocker
fiercely.
"What I know about it is this," replied Aubrey calmly, as he drew the
note from his pocket, and flicked at it with a finger. "The guv'nor's
taken it into his head to go--likewise that sweet sister of mine; and
by all accounts our precious friend Byfield has gone also. No thought,
mind you, of what's goin' to become of me, or of what I'm to do, left
with this blessed house on my hands. Also to say nothin' of hints
thrown out as to the necessity for me to earn my own livin'. That's
what I know about it."
"I knew it," said Jordan Tant. "I was certain in my own mind that when
it came to the point Byfield would shake himself free of you all, and
go away. But I certainly did not anticipate that he would take the girl
or her father."
"So you know the truth--do you?" demanded Simon Quarle, elbowing his
way up to Mr. Tant. "You know the whole disgraceful truth--do you? I
suppose you're one of his precious friends--eh?"
"Mr. Byfield is certainly a friend of mine," said Jordan Tant. "And I
am the more sorry that he seems to have been sponged upon by all sorts
of people with whom he should have had nothing to do."
"Sponged upon!" Mrs. Stocker literally took him by one shoulder, and
turned him round so that he faced her. "My brother, let me tell you,
has a private fortune of his own----"
"Private fiddlesticks, ma'am," broke in Simon Quarle. "He never had
a penny to bless himself with, until he happened to light upon a
soft-hearted man who took an interest in his daughter Bessie. That
soft-hearted man was Gilbert Byfield; and all this house, and the
servants, and the rioting and the feasting, and the champagne and what
not--it's all been paid for by him. So much for your brother's fortune,
ma'am!"
"I'll not believe it," exclaimed Mrs. Stocker, seeing the matter
clearly enough now, but clinging to straws. "It's ridiculous!"
"It happens to be true," said Mr. Tant. "Byfield's friends have long
bewailed this absurd infatuation of his, and have done their best to
get him away from it; now he has finally defied all their efforts, and
has actually run away with this young person."
"Regardin' the fact that she's my sister--would you wish to offer any
explanation of that remark to me?" asked Aubrey, with dignity.
"Don't forget, my friend, that she has gone with her father," Simon
Quarle reminded Tant in his harsh voice. "There's not a word can be
breathed against the girl; understand that."
"The only question is--where have they gone?" demanded Mrs. Stocker.
"Personally, I should like to see my brother; I should like to let him
understand that never for one instant was I deceived about the matter;
never for one instant did I believe his tales of this fortune--and his
speculations--and so forth. He would find it difficult to deceive me, I
think. I saw through the whole business from the very beginning."
"All I can tell you is this," said Mr. Tant, turning towards the door.
"Our friend Byfield--or perhaps I should say _my_ friend Byfield--is
an extremely wealthy man, and has a yacht--the _Blue Bird_--lying at
Newhaven. He has gone there, and will doubtless be found on board
by anyone sufficiently interested in him to follow. So far as I'm
concerned--I wash my hands of him altogether. Good day to you!"
Mr. Tant put on his hat, and walked with his little mincing steps out
of the house; from the windows they saw him going down the drive, and
turning out into the high road. There was a silence for a moment or
two until he had disappeared; then Mrs. Stocker, in the most startling
fashion, demanded of her husband why he was standing staring there.
"Will you permit me, Edward, to remain any longer in a house in which
I have been insulted--defrauded--held up to ridicule? As you are well
aware, I am compelled to accompany you whenever I receive orders to do
so; such is my wifely duty. But at the present moment I implore you to
take me away."
"Certainly, my love," said Mr. Stocker feebly. "Only I should have
liked to know what had happened to poor Bessie; I always took an
interest in the girl, and I was in a way--(subject, of course, to your
decision in the matter, my dear)--quite fond of her. I should have
liked to know----"
"Your wife, I believe, stands first," said Mrs. Stocker, pointing to
the door. "I suggest, Edward--for of course I would not wish to put my
views before yours--I suggest that you lead the way, and that I follow.
We can then decide privately what is best for us to do."
So Mr. Edward Stocker, with a protesting glance at the others, led the
way, and Mrs. Stocker followed. In the hall, with the door closed, Mrs.
Stocker literally took him by the collar, and after administering a
shake to him, the better to rouse his wits, spoke her mind.
"Edward Stocker--I am going after them," she said. "I am not going to
allow that wretched brother of mine to triumph in such a manner as
this; I intend to let him know exactly what I think of him. As for the
girl"--Mrs. Stocker bridled and breathed hard--"I fancy I shall have
a word to say to her also when we meet. Edward Stocker--our way lies
straight for Newhaven and this vessel called _Blue Bird_."
"But, my love--I am not a good sailor," protested little Mr. Stocker.
"Idiot!--I don't anticipate a voyage," exclaimed Mrs. Stocker. "We may
be in time to stop them; that's my idea."
Aubrey Meggison, left with Simon Quarle, looked at the latter
dubiously; and then, in his despair, decided to seek that gentleman's
advice. Simon was pacing about the room, with his hands clasped behind
him, and muttering to himself.
"Speakin' of myself for a moment--what would you advise?" said Aubrey.
"Advise? What do you mean?" snarled Mr. Quarle, turning upon him.
"As a man--and as a brother," said Aubrey a little feebly. "To say
nothing of a being that's been abandoned, and left to what I might call
his fate. What do you think I ought to do?"
"Do? See if you can find some honest work somewhere--preferably
road-mending, or something of that sort," snapped the other; and turned
and walked out of the room.
"Gentlemanly chap, that," said Aubrey, addressing the furniture.
"Road-mendin' indeed! I think I know a trick worth two of that. If this
man Byfield is so fly with his money, why shouldn't I have a turn at
him? An outraged brother ought to count for something. Is it to be left
to the old man to deal with him? Not much! Newhaven, wasn't it? I'll
have a look at this blessed _Blue Bird_ on my own account!" He buttoned
his coat with some show of resolution, and went hurriedly out of the
room.
It has to be recorded that Mr. Simon Quarle, on his knees in his room,
hurriedly packing his small bag, had arrived also at a decision. He was
cramming things in ruthlessly, muttering savagely to himself as he did
so.
"Oh!--my Bessie--child in the ways of the world--and child most of
all where your heart is touched--is there anyone that can look after
you? You'll be lost, body and soul, among the lot of 'em, if your old
friend Simon doesn't stir himself. Devils!--harpies!--vultures!--they
shall reckon with me when it comes to the pinch. I'm for Newhaven!"
Meanwhile, Mr. Jordan Tant had walked straight back to the cottage,
in search of Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid. There, with many gestures,
and with the air of a man whose feelings of right and wrong had been
outraged, he told his story. "If Gilbert had only listened to me," he
ended pathetically--"but he never would learn to draw the line."
"One thing I am resolved upon," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane grimly--"and
that is that poor Gilbert shall not be absolutely lost. He must be
rescued; he must be snatched away from these people, against his will
if necessary. As I have already hinted, my mind is pretty well made up;
we will go at once to Newhaven, and see what can be done."
"We?" Enid looked at her mother in bewilderment.
"That was the word I used," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane sternly. "Jordan, I
am sure, would not allow us to go on such an expedition alone; he will
doubtless be willing to lend us his support--morally and physically."
"Certainly--if you wish it," said Jordan Tant humbly. "Most delighted.
To Newhaven, by all means."