CHAPTER XI
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."