RICHARD MANX MAKES LOVE TO "SWEET BECKY."
On the morning following the publication of the Supplement to the
_Evening Moon_, Becky had occasion to observe that her mistress, Mrs.
Preedy, was earnestly engaged in the perusal of a newspaper. A great
deal of house-work had to be done on this morning; there was a general
"cleaning-up;" floors and stairs to be scrubbed, chairs and tables to
be polished, and looking-glasses and windows to be cleaned; and as the
greater portion of this work fell to Becky's share, she was kept busily
employed until the afternoon. She was, therefore, in ignorance of the
publication of the statement in the _Evening Moon_, and her curiosity
was but languidly aroused by Mrs. Preedy's pre-occupation, until, by
mere chance, she caught sight of the heading, "The Murder in Great
Porter Square." She turned hot and cold, and her pulses quickened.
"Is that something fresh about the murder next door?" she ventured to
ask.
"Yes, Becky," replied Mrs. Preedy, but did not offer any explanation of
the contents.
It was not Becky's cue to exhibit more than ordinary interest in the
matter, and she merely remarked,
"I thought it might be something about the houses being haunted."
She noted that the paper was the _Evening Moon_, and she determined to
purchase a copy before she went to bed. She did not until the afternoon
get an opportunity to leave the house, and even then, there was so
much to do, she had to leave it secretly, and without Mrs. Preedy's
knowledge. There was another reason for her desire to go out. She
expected a letter at the Charing Cross Post Office, and it was necessary
she should be there before five o'clock to receive it. Mrs. Preedy
generally took a half-hour's nap in the afternoon, and Becky's plan was
to slip out the moment her mistress fell asleep, and leave the house to
take care of itself. She felt the want of an ally at this juncture; the
impression that she was fated to unravel the mystery of the murder, and
thus clear the man she loved from suspicion, was becoming stronger; and
to accomplish this it was necessary that she should keep her present
situation. She needed help, and she could not take any person into her
confidence.
During the day Becky noticed that a great many persons passed through
the Square, and stopped before the house. "Now that the houses are
haunted," she thought, "we shall be regularly besieged. But if they look
for a year they'll not see a ghost."
At four o'clock in the afternoon Mrs. Preedy arranged herself
comfortably in an arm chair in her kitchen, and in a few moments was
asleep. Now was Becky's opportunity. She quietly slipped out of the
house by way of the basement, tying her hat strings as she mounted the
steps, and walked quickly in the direction of Charing Cross. She was so
intent upon her mission that she scarcely noticed the unusual number of
persons in the Square. At Charing Cross Post Office she received the
letter she expected. She did not stop to read it; she simply opened it
as she retraced her steps, and, glancing hurriedly through it, put it
into her pocket. She heard the boys calling out "_Hevenin' Moon_! More
about the murder in Great Porter Square! Wonderful discovery! Romance in
real life! A 'Underd Thousand Pounds!" and she stopped and purchased two
copies. Although she was animated by the liveliest curiosity, she did
not pause even to open the paper, she was so anxious to get back to the
house before Mrs. Preedy awoke. Shortly before turning into the Square,
she was overtaken, fast as she herself was walking, by their young man
lodger, Richard Manx. He touched her arm, and smiling pleasantly at her,
walked by her side.
"My pretty one," he said, "your little feet walk fast."
"I am in a hurry," she replied, her nostrils dilating at his touch;
but instantly remembering the part she was playing, she returned his
pleasant smile.
"You have been--a--out while the amiable Mrs. Preedy sleeps."
This observation warned her that Richard Manx knew more about the
household movements than she expected. "I have no fool to deal with,"
she thought. "He shall have as much of my confidence as I choose to give
him; he will find me his match."
"Yes," she said aloud, with a bright look; "but don't tell Mrs. Preedy;
she might be angry with me."
"You speak," he said in a tone of lofty satisfaction, "to a gentleman."
"I wanted to buy a ribbon," said Becky, artlessly, "and it isn't easy to
choose the exact colour one would like at night, so I thought I would
steal out, just as I am, while Mrs. Preedy took her nap."
"Steal out--ah, yes, I understand--just as you are, charming!"
"And now, although I couldn't match my ribbon--it was a very light pink
I wanted--I must get back quickly."
All the while they were talking he was sucking and chewing a sweetmeat;
having disposed of it, he popped another into his mouth.
"Quickly," he repeated, bending down, so that his face was on a level
with hers. "That is--a--soon. Will you?"
This question was accompanied by the offer of a little packet of acid
drops, half of which he had already devoured. She took a couple with the
remark that she liked chocolate creams best.
"You shall have some," he said, "to-morrow. I shall walk with you; I
myself am on my way to my small apartment. It is the--a--fashion for a
gentleman to offer a lady one of his arms. Honour me."
He held out his arm, which she declined.
"I am not a lady," she said demurely; "I am only a poor servant girl."
"And I," he responded insinuatingly, "am a poor gentleman. Ah! If
I were--a--rich, I should say to you, accept this ring." He made a
motion as if offering her a ring. "Accept this--a--bracelet," with
corresponding action. "Or this dress. But I have not--a--money." He took
another acid drop. "It is a misfortune. But what can a poor devil do?
You do not--a--despise me because I am thus?"
"Oh, no. I hope you will be rich one day."
"It will happen," he said, in a quick, eager tone. "From my country"--he
waved his hands vaguely--"shall come what I wait for here. Then shall I
say to you, 'Becky'--pardon; I have heard the amiable Mrs. Preedy thus
call you--'Becky,' shall I say, 'be no longer a servant. Be a lady.' How
then, will you speak?"
"I must not listen to you," replied Becky, coquettishly; "you foreign
gentlemen have such smooth tongues that they are enough to turn a poor
girl's head." They were now in Great Porter Square. "What a number of
people there are in the square," she said.
"It is--a--remarkable, this murder. The man is--a--found."
"What man?" cried Becky, excitedly. "The murderer!"
"Ah, no. That is not yet. It is the dead man who is--what do you call
it?--discovered. That is it. He _was_ not known--he _is_ known. His name
has come to the light. Yesterday he was a beggar--to-day he is rich.
What, then? He is dead. His millions--in my country's money, sweet
Becky, veritably millions--shall not bring life into his bones. His
money is--a--here. _He_ is"--Richard Manx looked up at the sky--"Ah, he
is there! or"--he cast his eyes to the pavement--"there! We shall not
know till there comes a time. It is sad."
"He was a rich gentleman, you say. What could have induced a rich man
to live in such a neighbourhood?"
"In such a neighbourhood!" Richard Manx smiled, and shrugged his
shoulders. "Ah! he came here not to die, surely--no, to live. It would
have been well--for him--that he came not; but so it was. What should
induce him here? you ask of me. Becky, I shall ask of the air." He put
himself into the attitude of listening. "Ha! ha! I hear perhaps the
reason. There was a lady. Enough. We shall not betray more. I propose to
you a thought. I live in the amiable house of Mrs. Preedy. It is high,
my apartment. Wherefore? I am a poor gentleman--as yet. I am one morning
discovered--dead. Startle not yourself. It will not be--no, it will not
be; but I propose to you my thought. You would not be glad--you would
not laugh, if so it should be?"
"It would be a shocking thing," said Becky, gravely.
"It is well. I thank you--your face is sad, your eyes are not so bright.
Then when I am thus, as I have said--dead!--from my country comes what
I wait for here--money, also in millions. 'Ah,' says the amiable Mrs.
Preedy, 'what could induce'--your word is good--'what could induce one
who was rich to live in such a neighbourhood?' Observe me, Becky. I
place my hand, on my heart and say, 'There is a lady.' Ah, yes, though
you call yourself not so, I say, 'There is a lady.' I say no more. We
are at home. You are beautiful, and I--till for ever--am your devoted.
If it were not for so many people--I am discreet, Becky--I should kiss
your hand."
And, indeed, the remark that he was discreet was proved by the change in
his manner, now that he and Becky were in closer contact with strangers;
the tenderness left his face, and observers at a distance would never
have guessed that he was making something very much like a declaration
of love to the girl. He opened the street door with his latch-key, and
went up to his garret, sucking his acid drops. Becky opened the little
gate and went down to her kitchen, where her mind was set at ease by
seeing Mrs. Preedy still asleep in her arm chair.
Becky looked at her hand. It was a pretty hand and small, but the work
she had done lately rather detracted from its prettiness. There was
dirt on it, too, from the scrubbing and cleaning of the day. "He would
kiss my hand," she murmured. "I am afraid our innocent young man lodger
is a bit of a flirt. Be careful, young man. You are not in this house
without a motive; you are in danger if that motive touches the welfare
of the man I love!"
This soliloquy, in which she indulged in the kitchen, might have been
of greater length had not Mrs. Preedy stirred in her sleep. The slight
movement was sufficient to wake her.
"I do believe, Becky," she said, opening her eyes, "that I have
overslept myself."
[Decoration]