The Mystery of a Hansom Cab Page 19

  Felix had rebelled at first, but ultimately gave way, as he found that when he had a good novel concealed among his parliamentary paper, time passed quite pleasantly, and he got the reputation of a hard worker at little cost. They had brought up Julia with them, and this young person had made up her mind to become the second Mrs Frettlby. She had not received much encouragement, but, like the English at Waterloo, did not know when she was beaten, and carried on the siege of Mr Frettlby’s heart in an undaunted manner. Dr Chinston had come up for a little relaxation, and never gave a thought to his anxious patients, or the many sick rooms he was in the habit of visiting. A young English fellow, called Peterson, who amused himself by travelling; an old colonist, full of reminiscences of the old days, when, ‘By Gad, sir, we hadn’t a gas lamp in the whole of Melbourne;’ and several other people, completed the party. They had all gone off to the billiard room and left Madge in her comfortable chair, half asleep.

  Suddenly she started as she heard a step behind her, and, turning, saw Sal Rawlins in the neatest of black gowns, with a coquettish white cap and apron, and an open book. The fact is, Madge had been so delighted with Sal for saving Brian’s life that she had taken her into her service as maid. Mr Frettlby had offered strong opposition at first, that a fallen woman like Sal should be near his daughter, but Madge determined to rescue the unhappy girl from the life of sin she was leading, and so, at last, he reluctantly consented. Brian too, had objected, but ultimately yielded, as he saw that Madge had set her heart on it. Mother Guttersnipe objected at first, characterising the whole affair as ‘blarsted ’umbug,’ but she, likewise, gave in, and Sal became maid to Miss Frettlby, who immediately set to work to remedy Sal’s defective education by teaching her to read. The book she held in her hand was a spelling-book, and this she handed to Madge.

  ‘I think I knows it now, Miss,’ she said, respectfully, as Madge looked up with a smile.

  ‘Do you, indeed,’ said Madge, gaily; ‘you will be able to read in no time, Sal.’

  ‘Read this?’ said Sal, touching Tristan, A Romance, by Zoe.

  ‘Hardly!’ said Madge, picking it up with a look of contempt. ‘I want you to learn English, and not a confusion of tongues like this thing; but it’s too hot to do lessons, Sal,’ she went on, leaning back in her seat, ‘so get a chair and talk to me.’

  Sal complied, and Madge looked out on to the brilliant flowerbeds, and at the black shadow of the tall witch elm which grew on one side of the lawn. She wanted to ask a certain question of Sal, and did not know how to do it. The moodiness and irritability of Brian had troubled her very much of late, and, with the quick instinct of her sex, she ascribed it indirectly to the woman who had died in the back slum. Anxious to share his troubles and lighten his burden, she determined to ask Sal about this mysterious woman, and find out, if possible, what secret had been told to Brian, which affected him so deeply.

  ‘Sal,’ she said, after a short pause, turning her clear, grey eyes on the woman, ‘I want to ask you something.’

  The other shivered and turned pale.

  ‘About—about that?’

  Madge nodded.

  Sal hesitated for a moment, and then flung herself at the feet of her mistress.

  ‘I will tell you,’ she cried. ‘You have been kind to me, an’ have a right to know; I will tell you all I know.’

  ‘Then,’ asked Madge, firmly, as she clasped her hands tightly together, ‘who was this woman whom Mr Fitzgerald went to see, and where did she come from?’

  ‘Gran’ an’ me found her one evenin’ in Little Bourke Street,’ answered Sal, ‘just near the theatre. She was quite drunk, an’ we took her home with us.’

  ‘How kind of you,’ said Madge.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t that,’ replied the other, dryly, ‘gran’ wanted her clothes; she was awful swell dressed.’

  ‘And she took the clothes—how wicked!’

  ‘Anyone would have done it down our way,’ answered Sal, indifferently; ‘but gran’ changed her mind when she got her home. I went out to get some gin for gran’, and when I came back she was huggin’ an’ kissin’ the woman.’

  ‘She recognised her.’

  ‘Yes, I s’pose so,’ replied Sal, ‘an’ next mornin’ when the lady got square she made a grab at gran’, an’ hollered out, “I was comin’ to see you.”’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Gran’ chucked me out of the room, an’ they had a long jaw; and then when I come back, gran’ tells me the lady is a-goin’ to stay with us ’cause she was ill, and sent me for Mr Whyte.’

  ‘And he came?’

  ‘Oh, yes—often,’ said Sal. ‘He kicked up a row when he first turned up; but when he found she was ill, sent a doctor; but it warn’t no good. She was two weeks with us, and then died the mornin’ she saw Mr Fitzgerald.’

  ‘I suppose Mr Whyte was in the habit of talking to this woman?’

  ‘Lots,’ returned Sal; ‘but he always turned gran’ an’ I out of the room afore he started.’

  ‘And’—hesitating—‘did you ever overhear one of these conversations?’

  ‘Yes—one,’ answered the other with a nod. ‘I got riled at the way he cleared us out of our own room; and once, when he shut the door and gran’ went off to get some gin, I sat down at the door and listened. He wanted her to give up some papers, an’ she wouldn’t. She said she’d die first; but at last he got ’em, and took ’em away with him.’

  ‘Did you see them?’ asked Madge, as the assertion of Gorby that Whyte had been murdered for certain papers flashed across her mind.

  ‘Rather,’ said Sal, ‘I was lookin’ through a hole in the door, an’ she takes ’em from under her piller an’ ’e takes ’em to the table, where the candle was, an’ looks at ’em—they were in a large blue envelope with writing on it in red ink—then he put ’em in his pocket, and she sings out: “You’ll lose ’em,” an’ ’e says: “No, I’ll always ’ave ’em with me, an’ if ’e wants ’em ’e’ll have to kill me fust afore ’e gits ’em.”’

  ‘And you did not know who the man was to whom the papers were of such importance?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, they never said no names.’

  ‘And when was it Whyte got the papers?’

  ‘About a week before he was murdered,’ said Sal, after a moment’s thought. ‘An’ after that he never turned up again. She kept watchin’ for him night an’ day, an’ ’cause he didn’t come, got mad at him. I hear her sayin’, “You think you’ve done with me, my gentleman, an’ leaves me here to die, but I’ll spoil your little game,” an’ then she wrote that letter to Mr Fitzgerald, an’ I brought him to her, as you know.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Madge, rather impatiently. ‘I heard all that at the trial, but what conversation passed between Mr Fitzgerald and this woman, did you hear it?’

  ‘Bits of it,’ replied the other. ‘I didn’t split in court, ’cause I thought the lawyer would be down on me for listening. The fust thing I heard Mr Fitzgerald sayin’ was, “You’re mad—it ain’t true,” an’ she ses, “S’elp me God it is, Whyte’s got the proof,” an’ then he sings out, “My poor girl,” and she ses, “Will you marry her now?” and ses he, “I will, I love her more than ever,” and then she makes a grab at him, and says, “Spile his game if you can,” and ses he, “What’s yer name?” and she says—’

  ‘What?’ asked Madge, breathlessly.

  ‘Rosanna Moore!’

  There was a sharp exclamation as Sal said the name, and, turning round quickly, Madge found Brian standing beside her, pale as death, with his eyes fixed on the woman who had risen to her feet.

  ‘Go on!’ he said, sharply.

  ‘That’s all I know,’ she replied, in a sullen tone.

  Brian gave a sigh of relief.

  ‘You can go,’ he said, slowly, ‘I wish to speak with Miss Frettlby alone.’

  Sal looked at him for a moment, and then glanced at her mistress, who nodded to her as a sign that she might withdraw. She picked up her
book, and with another sharp inquiring look at Brian, turned and walked slowly into the house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A DAUGHTER OF EVE

  After Sal had vanished into the house, Brian sank into a chair beside Madge, with a weary sigh. He was in riding dress, which became his stalwart figure well, and looked remarkably handsome—but ill and worried.

  ‘What on earth were you asking that girl about?’ he said abruptly, taking his hat off, and tossing it and his gloves on to the floor.

  Madge flushed crimson for a moment, and then taking Brian’s two strong hands in her own, looked steadily into his frowning face.

  ‘Why don’t you trust me?’ she asked in a quiet tone.

  ‘Because it is not necessary that I should,’ he answered moodily. ‘The secret that Rosanna Moore told me on her death bed is nothing that would benefit you to know.’

  ‘Is it about me?’ she persisted.

  ‘It is, and it is not,’ he answered epigrammatically.

  ‘I suppose that means that it is about a third person, and concerns me,’ she said calmly, releasing his hands.

  ‘Well, yes,’ impatiently striking his boot with his riding whip. ‘But it is nothing that can harm you as long as you do not know it, but God help you should anyone tell it to you, for it would embitter your life.’

  ‘My life being so very sweet now,’ answered Madge with a slight sneer. ‘You are trying to put out a fire by pouring oil on it, and what you say only makes me more determined to learn what it is.’

  ‘Madge, I implore you not to persist in this foolish curiosity,’ he said almost fiercely, ‘it will only bring you misery.’

  ‘If it concerns me I have a right to know it,’ she answered curtly. ‘When I marry you how can we be happy together, with the shadow of a secret between us?’

  Brian rose, and leaned against the verandah post, with a dark frown on his face.

  ‘Do you remember that verse of Browning’s?’ he said, coolly—

  Where the apple reddens

  Never pry,

  Lest we lose our Edens,

  Eve and I.

  ‘Singularly applicable to our present conversation, I think.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, her pale face flushing with anger, ‘you want me to live in a fool’s paradise, which may end at any moment.’

  ‘That depends upon yourself,’ he answered, coldly. ‘I never roused your curiosity by telling you that there was a secret, but betrayed it inadvertently by Calton’s cross-questioning. I tell you, candidly, that I did learn something from Rosanna Moore, and it concerns you, but only indirectly through a third person. But it would do no good to reveal it, and would ruin both our lives.’

  She did not answer, but looked straight before her into the glowing sunshine.

  Brian fell on his knees beside her, and stretched out his hands with an entreating gesture.

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ he cried sadly, ‘cannot you trust me? The love which has stood such a test as yours cannot fail like this. Let me bear the misery of knowing it alone, without blighting your young life with the knowledge of it. I would tell you if I could, but, God help me, I cannot, I cannot,’ and he buried his face in his hands.

  Madge closed her mouth firmly, and touched his comely head with her cool, white fingers. There was a struggle going on in her breast between her feminine curiosity and her love for the man at her feet—the latter conquered, and she bowed her head over his.

  ‘Brian,’ she whispered softly, ‘let it be as you wish. I will never again try and learn this secret, since you do not desire it.’

  He arose to his feet and caught her in his strong arms, with a glad smile.

  ‘My dearest!’ he said, kissing her passionately, and then, for a few moments, neither of them spoke. ‘We will begin a new life,’ he said, at length. ‘We will put the sad past away from us, and only think of it as a dream.’

  ‘But this secret will still fret you,’ she murmured.

  ‘It will wear away with time and with change of scene,’ he answered sadly.

  ‘Change of scene!’ she repeated in a startled tone. ‘Are you going away?’

  ‘Yes! I have sold my station, and will leave Australia forever during the next three months.’

  ‘And where are you going?’ asked the girl, rather bewildered.

  ‘Anywhere,’ he said, a little bitterly. ‘I am going to follow the example of Cain, and be a wanderer on the face of the earth!’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘That is what I have come to see you about,’ said Brian, looking steadily at her. ‘I have come to ask you if you will marry me at once, and we will leave Australia together.’

  She hesitated.

  ‘I know it is asking a great deal,’ he said, hurriedly, ‘to leave your friends, your position, and’—with hesitation—‘your father; but think of my life without you—think how lonely I will be wandering round the world by myself; but you will not desert me now I have so much need of you—you will come with me and be my good angel in the future as you have been in the past?’

  She put her hand on his arm, and looking at him with her clear, grey eyes, said—‘Yes!’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Brian, reverently, and there was again a silence.

  Then they sat down and talked about their plans, and built castles in the air, after the fashion of lovers.

  ‘I wonder what papa will say,’ observed Madge, idly twisting her engagement ring round and round.

  Brian frowned, and a dark look passed over his face.

  ‘I suppose I must speak to him about it,’ he said, at length, reluctantly.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, lightly. ‘It is merely a formality; still one that must be observed.’

  ‘And where is Mr Frettlby?’ asked Fitzgerald, rising.

  ‘In the billiard room,’ she answered, as she followed his example. ‘No,’ she continued, as she saw her father step on to the verandah, ‘here he is.’

  Brian had not seen Mark Frettlby for some time, and was astonished at the change which had taken place in his appearance. Formerly he had been as straight as an arrow, with a stern, fresh-coloured face; but now he had a slight stoop, and his face looked old and withered. His thick, black hair was streaked here and there with white, and the only thing unchanged about him were his eyes, which were as keen and bright as ever. Remembering how old his own face looked, and how altered Madge was, now seeing her father, he wondered if this sudden change was traceable to the same source, namely, the murder of Oliver Whyte. Mr Frettlby’s face looked sad and thoughtful as he came along; but catching sight of his daughter, a smile of affection broke over it.

  ‘My dear Fitzgerald,’ he said, holding out his hand, ‘this is indeed a surprise! When did you come over?’

  ‘About half an hour ago,’ replied Brian, reluctantly taking the extended hand of the millionaire. ‘I came to see Madge, and have a talk with you.’

  ‘Ah, that’s right,’ said the other, putting his arm round his daughter’s waist. ‘So that’s what has brought the roses to your face, young lady,’ he went on, pinching her cheek playfully. ‘You will stay to dinner, of course, Fitzgerald.’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ answered Brian hastily. ‘My dress—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ interrupted Frettlby, hospitably. ‘We are not in Melbourne, and I am sure Madge will excuse your dress. You must stay.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ said Madge, in a beseeching tone, touching his hand lightly. ‘I don’t see so much of you that I can let you off with half an hour’s conversation.’

  Brian seemed to be making a violent effort.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, in a low voice; ‘I will stay.’

  ‘And now,’ said Frettlby, in a brisk tone, as he sat down, ‘the important question of dinner being settled, what is it you want to see me about—your station?’

  ‘No!’ answered Brian, leaning against the verandah post, while Madge slipped her hand through his arm. ‘I have sold it.’

  �
��Sold it!’ echoed Frettlby, aghast. ‘What for?’

  ‘I felt restless, and wanted a change.’

  ‘Ah! a rolling stone,’ said the, millionaire, shaking his head, ‘gathers no moss, you know.’

  ‘Stones don’t roll of their own accord,’ replied Brian, in a gloomy tone. ‘They are impelled by a force over which they have no control.’

  ‘Oh, indeed!’ said the millionaire, in a joking tone. ‘And may I ask what is your propelling force?’

  Brian looked at the old man’s face with such a steady gaze that the latter’s eyes dropped after an uneasy attempt to return it.

  ‘Well,’ he said, impatiently, looking at the two tall young people standing before him. ‘What do you want to see me about?’

  ‘Madge has agreed to marry me at once, and I want your consent.’

  ‘Impossible!’ said Frettlby, curtly.

  ‘There is no such a word as impossible,’ retorted Brian, coolly, thinking of the famous remark in Richelieu. ‘Why should you refuse? I am rich now.’

  ‘Pshaw!’ said Frettlby, rising impatiently. ‘It’s not money I’m thinking about—I’ve got enough for both of you; but I cannot live without Madge.’

  ‘Then come with us?’ said his daughter, kissing him.

  Her lover, however, did not second the invitation, but stood moodily twisting his tawny moustache, and staring out into the garden in an absent sort of manner.

  ‘What do you say, Fitzgerald?’ said Frettlby, who was eyeing him keenly.