It was. So dreadful, that I could not bear to think. I hope it was not wicked, but I almost felt as if that letter must have dropped out of heaven. It did seem a miracle that it should have come to me at that very moment. Penniless! Starving! And there was that hundred pounds-her hundred pounds-lying on the table. Was it possible that I had even remotely contemplated the possibility of-of doing what? My conscience so rose up at me that, whether Mr Sanford was or was not there, I had to hide my face with my hands and start crying all over again. My behaviour seemed to positively frighten him.
"I hope that Hetty has not said anything disagreeable-nothing to cause you pain. I assure you that nothing was further from her intention, and that the letter was accompanied by all sorts of loving messages."
Then I felt that I must tell him everything. So I did-every morsel, right from the beginning. He was so patient, so full of understanding and of sympathy; indeed, he was much more sympathetic than I deserved. Still, even if you are not deserving of sympathy, it is a comfort to receive it, particularly if it is nicely offered.
I do not wish to breathe a word against my own family. I am perfectly certain that no one could be fonder of Nora and the boys than I am. Yet I am inclined to think that there are times, when if one must confess, it is just as well to do it to someone who is not exactly a relation. One's relatives are apt to take such a narrow view. I am convinced that no one could have taken a broader view than Mr Sanford did; and he never laughed once. That, in itself, was an immense relief. I have noticed in Nora, even when I have been confiding to her the most serious things, a tendency to treat me as if I was not quite in earnest. There was nothing of that sort about Mr Sanford, not a trace; or, at least, if he did show some faint sign of my having afforded him amusement, he did not do it in a brutal way.
"Poor little soul!" he said, when I had finished. "Poor little soul!" – I was not certain that I liked him to address me in quite that form of words. But there was something so extremely soothing in his manner that I let it pass. – "And so this has been the cause of the trouble." He picked up the copy of the sentence which I had meant to send to the paper. "I see no reason why this should not have succeeded in winning the prize. If you will forgive me for posing as an expert, this handwriting is eminently characteristic."
"Don't be horrid!"
"Such is not my intention. I am not suggesting that the character given in the paper is particularly applicable to this."
"I know it isn't!"
"But it does not follow that this does not hint at something equally fine, though in a different way."
"Mr Sanford!"
"I must ask you to forgive me if I annoy you by the expression of my opinion. In any case, you are to be congratulated on what you have done."
"How do you make that out? When I have been winning other people's money with somebody else's writing?"
"Precisely. Though I should not phrase it quite like that. Hetty informs me that this lady is in sore straits. Well, you have gained for her what, in her position, she will regard as a fortune-which she never could have done for herself."
"I never meant to."
"Which actually makes it more delightful. Because, while you have been trying to do a good deed, you have really done a better." He had a very nice way of putting things. "I would suggest that you yourself take the money to this lady at once. Her pleasure at seeing it will only be eclipsed by her delight at seeing you. And I shall be only too proud and happy if you will allow me to accompany you on your errand of mercy."
That was what did happen. Scarcely had he stopped speaking than Harris appeared at the window.
"If you please, Miss Molly, Miss Nora and the young gentlemen asked me to tell you that they've gone off for the day, and won't be back till the evening."
"We also," observed Mr Sanford, "will go off for the day. You see, the stars in their courses are on the side of Miss Winston. I came over on my machine; if you'll jump on yours we'll be off!"
He seemed to imagine that I could rush off to the other side of the county just as I was. Masculine persons do have such curious notions-even when they are grown up. I had to scrub my face to make it clean. The condition of my hair was frightful. I seemed to have cried it into a tangled mass. Just as I was struggling with it his voice came up the stairs.
"I don't know, Miss Boyes, if you are aware that you have been five-and-thirty minutes. If you can get down inside the next five we may catch the train; but if you can't, I'm afraid we sha'n't."
Of course after that I simply flew. I left my hair nearly as it was; jammed my hat on anyhow; and bounded down the stairs.
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting," I remarked.
"I'm used to it," he said. "I have two sisters."
I do not know what he meant. It sounded very rude. Almost like one of my own relations.
We caught the train; and, after changing at Chichester, reached Angmering at last. By that time I had come to the conclusion that Mr Sanford was one of the most delightful persons I had ever encountered. And so intellectual. A trifle dogmatic perhaps, and a little inclined to regard me as younger than I was. We had a long and most interesting discussion about women in politics. A subject of which I knew absolutely nothing. But it was not necessary, on that account, that he should hint as much. Which he very nearly did. Yet, on the whole, I could not but regard him as the kind of cousin to do one credit. And, at the risk of making her conceited, almost made up my mind to tell Hetty so next time I wrote to her.
Dear Miss Winston! We found her, looking like the shadow of her former self, lying on such a hard old couch, in such a poor little room. Had I been an angel she could not have seemed more glad to see me. As I told her all about it she was so sweet. And when I gave her the twenty five-pound notes for which Mr Sanford had changed the cheque at Chichester, the way in which she thanked me did make me feel so strange. As if I had done anything to deserve her thanks. I never knew how happy it made one to be the bearer of good news until that day. As I came away I almost felt as if I had been in the presence of something sacred.
On our way home Mr Sanford and I had a warm argument about old-age pensions, which nearly ended in a tiff. After we had been talking about them for more than half an hour he as good as said that he did not believe that I knew what an old age-pension was. Even if that was true-and it was, perfectly-I did not propose to allow him-almost a stranger-to accuse me of downright ignorance; as if I were an untutored savage. He might know something about everything; and anyone could see that he was awfully clever, while I might know nothing about anything, – which possibly was the case. Still, it was not civil for him to remark on it. The fact was, that he would persist in regarding me-I could see quite plainly what was in his mind-as if I were a mere child. Which, at sixteen, one emphatically is not. I do not hesitate to admit that I snubbed him in order to let him see that I resented his quite intolerable airs of superior wisdom.
Which made it the more singular that he should have told me, as we were entering the drive, that he had to thank me for one of the pleasantest days he had spent in his life. Considering that I had been metaphorically sitting upon him for ever so long, I did not at all understand what he had to thank me for.
When I got out my desk, to commence a letter to Hetty, my copy of Miss Winston's sentence was nowhere to be found. I could not think what had become of it. I distinctly remembered Mr Sanford taking it off the table, and making some uninvited comments on the writing-he seemed fond of criticising other people. But I did not recall what had happened to it afterwards. He could not have put it into his pocket by mistake. It seemed such a very odd thing for him to have done. And so excessively careless.
V
THE PEOPLE'S STOCK EXCHANGE
Although we were not paupers, for ever so long after mother's death we lived pretty much as if we were. We hated the idea of living in a town; especially London, and we could not get a servant to stop at The Chase. Considering that the family consisted of Dick and me, and the four children, who all of them insisted on doing exactly as they pleased, it really was no wonder. The consequence was, that we generally had to do everything for ourselves, and the way in which things were done was beyond description. A stranger dropping in suddenly would have supposed himself to have wandered into something between a lunatic asylum and a workhouse.
Of course, as the head of the family, this state of things occasioned me much concern. I knew that it was not what mother would have wished. But when I spoke to the others about it, they all started laying the blame upon each other, and even upon me. The fact is, when we were servantless, the boys expected Nora and me to do everything. We did not see it. Especially as it was almost invariably their fault that we were without a creature to do a thing. Their habits were so erratic. You could not expect a properly trained servant-or indeed anyone-to take them up their breakfasts in bed at intervals of half an hour or so. Or-if they had made up their minds to fly off to the other side of the county-to have a regular meal ready at perhaps five o'clock in the morning. As for lunch, they expected that to be on all day. And always something hot and really nice. As for tea, as a rule, Nora and I had ours together; but no one ever knew when the boys would insist on having theirs. It was the same with dinner. We always had had a proper dinner, and I felt, strongly, that because mother was dead we ought not all at once to behave as if we were barbarians, and leave off everything she had accustomed us to. And Dick said that he agreed with me. So I fixed it first for seven; then half-past; then eight; then for all sorts of times. But it was no use. Either one of the boys would come in half an hour before the proper time, starving, because-through his own fault-he had had nothing to eat all day, and, before anyone could stop him, would seize whatever was cooking, and make a meal off it there and then. Or else some of them would be ever so late, and make a tremendous fuss because we had not waited-even to the extent of expecting another dinner to be served there and then. In that respect Dick was as bad as anyone. No cook would stand that sort of thing-and no cook did.
If we could only have found mother's will it might all have been so different. Because it was not at all unlikely that she had appointed someone as guardian, and to take proper control of everything until the children had grown up. As it was, so far as we knew, no one had a right to even send the boys to school. And as they refused, point-blank, to go of their own accord, educationally they bade fair to shine. At Mr Sanford's suggestion we tried a tutor. The tricks they played him were beyond conception. Nothing would induce him to stop. He actually threatened us with an action for damages. I do not quite know what for, but Mr Sanford had to pay him something extra before he would be satisfied.
I do not wish it to be supposed that the boys were bad boys. They were not. They had loved mother dearly, and I do not believe they had ever given her any trouble. But I fancy they had never been very fond of school. And the sudden chance of liberty had turned their heads. Besides, they had all made up their minds to be things for which much book-learning was not required. And if Jack was going to be an engine-driver, and Jim either a fireman or an aeronaut, and Con a naturalist, it did seem a pity to spend a lot of money on unnecessary schooling.
Unfortunately we could not find a will. The presumption was that mother had made one, but that it had been stolen, because one day I came upon a box of papers which was locked up in one of the drawers in her wardrobe.
Oh dear, how strange I felt as I looked through them. Almost as if I were prying into mother's secrets. Although I know perfectly well that there was nothing which now she would have wished to have kept hidden from me. There were all father's letters-even the love-letters which he had written to her before they were married. If I had only known that they were there, I would have had them placed with her in the coffin, so that they might have been hers only, even in the grave. I think she would have liked it. By the beautiful way in which they had been kept bound about with ribbons tied in true lovers' knots, you could see how sacred she had held them. There were all sorts of things besides. In particular, quantities of ball programmes. She must have seen a great deal of Society at one time. What a strange change must have taken place in her life, because I did not remember her once going anywhere. Some of the things were beyond my comprehension. I wondered what history was attached to a tiny Maltese cross wrapped in silver paper. There were lots of things which suggested us children. Actually, there were the first letters we had each of us written to mother! Such scrawls! Locks of hair, tiny shoes, a baby's cap, a beautiful christening gown, and I do not know what else besides. Fancy her keeping them all those years! I wondered if, when Nora and I were grown-up, and were married, and had children of our own, we should have a treasure-box like mother's, containing mementoes of our dear ones. I think if I ever do, I should like to have it with me in my grave. If I had known of its existence mother should have had hers.
All except one thing which was in it. And it is that to which I have been coming all this time. It was a sheet of foolscap paper, folded in three. On one side was written, in mother's writing: "Contents of Brown Despatch-Box." When I opened it I perceived that it was a sort of inventory. It began, -
"In the brown despatch-box are-
"My husband's will, My own will, My husband's jewels,"
–and then it went on to give quite a long list. Now I knew the brown despatch-box. We all did. It had been father's. There were his initials-R. B. – in gold letters on the lid. It was unlocked by a tiny little key. I had always understood from mother that she had kept all sorts of wonderful things inside of it. Yet, after she had been buried, and we had got rid of the Ogre, and had found her keys, it was empty. It contained not a vestige of anything. I thought it curious at the time. We all had done. But I thought it still more curious by the time I had reached the bottom of that list.
Next time Mr Sanford came to see us-which was a day or two afterwards-I handed it to him. He made inquiries at Somerset House, where, it appears, they keep such things, and there, sure enough, was a copy of father's will. It was simplicity itself, just two lines-
"I give and bequeath everything of which I die possessed to my dear wife, for her sole and absolute use."
So that, so far as we were concerned, everything depended upon what was in mother's will. Mr Sanford explained to us that at Somerset House they only keep a copy when the original will has been what they call "proved." And the whereabouts of the original will was just the question. Was it in existence? and, if so, where?
Dick expressed all our sentiments in language of his own.
"The Ogre collared it; that's what's come to the thing. What asses we were, not to have suspected him of it at the time!"
"If," observed Mr Sanford, "he collared that, then the probability is that he collared a good deal else besides. For instance, your father's jewels. Do any of you know anything about them?"
"It's a most extraordinary thing," I explained, "that I should ever have forgotten them. Mother's death was so sudden, and everything was in such confusion, that, except the one fact that she was dead, all the rest passed clean out of my mind. But I remember them perfectly. Why, it was only during the last holidays before she died that she showed some of them to me. I went into the morning-room one day, and she had the brown despatch-box on the table, and it was full of things. She had a leather case open in her hand. In it were a number of rings. 'See, Molly,' she said, 'there are some of your father's rings. Your father had some beautiful jewels. I am keeping it for Dick and the boys!"
"You are sure she said that she was keeping it?"
"Perfectly certain. Another small case was lying on the table. She took it up. 'Look,' she said, 'this was a present to your father. It is one of the most beautiful diamonds I have ever seen. It can be worn either in a ring, or as a pin, or as a stud.' She attached it to three pieces of gold which were with it in the case, to let me see how that was managed. 'Did he often wear it?' I asked. 'No,' she said; 'he didn't.' And she laughed. 'Your father scarcely ever wore ornaments of any kind. And this is much too fine a stone for a gentleman to wear. But it is worth a great deal of money all the same.'"
"Of course I knew about father's jewels," chorused Dick. "Once, when I was quite a little chap, she showed me a magnificent gold repeater watch, and told me it was father's, and that perhaps one day it would be mine. She touched a spring and let me hear it chime the hours, and the quarters, and the minutes. There were a lot of other things besides, though I can't tell you quite what, and I fancy there were two or three more watches."
"Where did your mother keep this despatch-box?' asked Mr Sanford.
"Where we found it, and where she kept all her private papers-locked up in her bureau."
"But neither the bureau nor the box showed any signs of having been tampered with."
"Of course not. Mr Miller borrowed mother's keys, without asking leave, and had the free run of everything. We knew nothing about what was going on. All he had to do was to unlock things, and walk off with what he wanted. Pretty idiots we were to let him get clean away with them. Goodness only knows what he has taken."
Mr Sanford, who had been serious enough all through, looked graver than ever when Dick said that.
"That is exactly the point. Under the circumstances it is difficult for us to determine what may not be missing. I am afraid that Mr Miller is an unprincipled person."
"There's no fear about that-it's a dead sure thing. He's a confounded highway robber, as well as a miserable area sneak."
Dick's language is so strong. But Mr Sanford did not seem to notice it.
"If all the items mentioned were in the despatch-box at the time of your mother's decease, and the correctness of her list is to be implicitly relied upon-"
"If mother says a thing was there, it was there; you can bet on that."
"Then, in that case, it seems only too probable that Mr Miller has robbed you of a very large amount of valuable property-"
"I'd like to have the flogging of him!"
"Besides the will, which is itself of cardinal importance; and your father's jewels, which evidently were worth a considerable sum-"
"I should think so!"
"There is here a list of no less than thirteen securities, all of the highest class, which are stated to have represented-apparently at par value-over £50,000. At present prices they would be worth more. The presumption is that scrip, or bonds, or other legal documents representing ownership, were in that box. If such was the case, the question is-where are they now?"
"£50,000!" I cried.
I have no doubt that we all of us looked amazed at the magnitude of the sum.
"That scoundrel," declared Dick, "is living on them-on the fat of the land."
"Since they were all easily negotiable, and could be turned into cash at a moment's notice, if our suspicions are well founded-"
"Which they are!"
"It is practically certain that Mr Miller is in the enjoyment of a comfortable little fortune. Not the least extraordinary part of the matter is, that had not your sister come upon this list, almost, as it seems, by accident, we might never have known that such securities were in existence. As it is, I fear we shall have some trouble in tracing their possession to Mr Miller; and still more trouble in tracing him."
It was ever so long-months and months-after I had found out what ought to have been in the despatch-box, that I went on a tremendous expedition-to London, all by myself. I was to meet Hetty Travers and her mother at St James's Hall-and perhaps Mr Sanford might be there, but he could not be sure-and then we were all going to a concert together. That was a Saturday. Hetty lived at Beckenham. And after the concert I was going to stay with her until the Monday.
That was the programme.
At home it was a lovely morning. So I thought I would go up by a pretty early train and do some shopping. I had quite a lot of money, and I wanted ever so many things, and you can buy things much better in London than at West Marden. It was true that I did not know much about London; for instance, I could not have found my way from St Paul's Churchyard to Regent Street. But I had heard Dick say that when you did not know your way to a place, all you had to do was to jump into a hansom and trust to the driver. He maintained that while there was a hansom to be found no one need be lost in town. So that was just what I did do. I took one from London Bridge to Oxford Street; then, when I had got what I wanted there, another to Regent Street, which, driving, seemed really no distance at all; and then a third to St Paul's Churchyard. Then, just as I was getting as hungry as anything, and was wondering where I could get something to eat, I found that all the shops were actually closing, and that I had scarcely any time left in which to get to St James's Hall. I get into a cab, and told the man to drive as fast as he could; it was then past two, and I was supposed to be there at half-past.
He went off at a pretty good pace. But he had scarcely gone any distance when I saw on the pavement, a little way in front-the Ogre! Mr Stephen Miller! The sight of him drove everything else clean out of my head. I jumped up in the cab, exclaiming, -
"Stop! stop!"
I daresay the cabman though I was going to jump out while he was going; and I believe I should have done so if he had gone on. But he pulled his horse back on to its haunches, and out I jumped. The Ogre, sublimely unconscious of who was behind him, had moved aside as if he were about to enter a great stone building which he had just reached. However, I was in front of him before he could get to the door; and I lost no time in coming to the point.
"Mr Miller," I cried, "where's mother's will, and father's jewels, and all our money?"
He stared at me as if I were the last person he expected-or desired-to see; and I daresay I was. I thought at first that he was going to turn on his heel and run. But that was only for a moment. After he had recovered from the sudden shock-and the sight of me must have been a shock to him-he glared with his horrid bloodshot eyes as if he would have liked to devour me, bones and all.
"I fancy there must be some mistake. I have not the pleasure of knowing who you are."
His wicked untruthfulness took me aback.
"You don't know who I am? – You do! – I'm Molly Boyes!"
"Unfortunately I have not the honour of knowing who Molly Boyes may be. And as I have a pressing appointment, I am afraid you must excuse me."
He put out his arm and, thrusting me on one side, dashed through the swing door into the building in front of which we were standing. He gave me such a push that it was a wonder I did not fall right over. By the time I had recovered myself sufficiently to rush after him there was nothing of him to be seen. He had either vanished into air, or into one of the innumerable offices which apparently the place contained. In front of me was a staircase; beyond it was a passage; on my right was a second passage; on my left a third. In which direction he had gone there was nothing to show. While I was standing there, feeling rather silly, a gentleman came out of one of the doors towards me. He was not bad looking; but he wore a green tie with pink spots which I did not like at all.
"Can you tell me," I asked, "where Mr Miller has gone?"
"Mr Miller? I'm afraid I don't know the name. Has he offices here?"
"He just came in!"
I described him as well as I could. The stranger seemed interested. He even smiled.
"Your description sounds like Mr Kenrick, of The People's Stock Exchange. The offices are on the fourth floor. You will see the name on a tablet against the wall."
It did not seem very promising. Kenrick did not sound like Miller. And I could not conceive of his having any connection with such an institution as The People's Stock Exchange. I was sorry for it if he had. Still up the stairs I went-it was a long way up to the fourth floor; and there, in black letters on a white tablet, amidst lots of other names, was "No. 169. The People's Stock Exchange. Mr George Kenrick." I went first round one corner, then round another-there was not a soul to be seen from whom to ask the way-and I was commencing to wonder if I should have to keep on chasing myself round corners for the rest of the afternoon when all of a sudden I heard someone shouting at the top of his voice. A door opened at the end of the passage in which I was and someone came out, addressing to someone within remarks which were uttered in such stentorian tones that it was quite impossible to avoid hearing what he said-
"I'll tell you what you are, Mr Kenrick-you're a scoundrel and a thief! And clever though you are, you'll find yourself at the Old Bailey yet before you've done-you dirty rascal!"
He shut the door with a bang which thundered through the place. He was very tall, with a long grey beard, and his hat crammed over his eyes; and as he strode past me he did look so very angry that I did not dare ask who he had been speaking to. But the language he had used was so extremely applicable to the Ogre, that I felt convinced it must be he. So I went to the room out of which he had come. Sure enough, on the glass door was "The People's Stock Exchange." I entered, and there, on the other side of a polished counter, was Mr Stephen Miller.
"I have found you again," I remarked.
He was talking to a young man-quite a boy, in fact-who was moving towards the door as I went in.
"You'll be here at the usual time on Monday?"
"Yes, sir."
The youth regarded me with what I almost felt was a twinkle in his eye; though I had not the remotest notion what he meant by such behaviour. And the Ogre and I were left alone. I repeated my previous observation.
"You perceive that I have found you again."
"It would seem so." He stood rubbing his chin and regarding me with a contemplative kind of air. He was ever so much better dressed than he ever was in our part of the world; but, in spite of it, he looked just the same disreputable, untrustworthy object. If anything, his face was fatter and redder than it used to be; and his eyes more bloodshot. "Come into my private office."
He led the way into a room beyond, and I followed. When we were in he stared at me again; and this time he grinned.
"You're quite a beauty-that's a pretty frock of yours. Perhaps it's the frock that does it-you never know." His manner made my cheeks burn. "Well, and how are they all at The Chase?"
Fancy his having the impudence to ask such a question!
"Thank you; they are all quite well. I want my mother's will-and father's jewels-and the securities which were in the brown despatch-box."
"You do, do you? Are they missing?"
"You know very well that they are missing-since you took them."
"Took them, did I? Odd what things one sometimes does by accident."
"It was no accident, as you are perfectly aware. Will you give them to me, please, as I am in a hurry?"
"Give them to you? Do you expect me to hand them over now-at once?"
"Most certainly. I don't intend to leave until I have them."
"Suppose I leave?"
"Then I shall follow you until we come to a policeman, to whom I shall give you in charge."
He laughed; though what there was to laugh at in the notion of being locked up was beyond my comprehension.
"So that's the idea. Well, I shouldn't like being sent to prison-it's not to be expected-"
"You will have brought it upon yourself."
"So I'll tell you what I'll do; you give me a kiss and I'll hand over."
I flamed up.
"How dare you say such a thing!"
"All right! all right! – you look spiteful; and it seems you are. Sorry I asked for what isn't to be had. I keep what you want outside; if you wait here I'll go and fetch it."
His insolent suggestion had made me so furious that, without stopping to think, supposing he meant what he said, I let him go. The door closed behind him as he went; but as there was a spring which made it close, I saw nothing strange in that. And I waited. His horrible proposal-and something, too, about his words, looks and manner made me conscious of a distinct sense of discomfort. I half wished that I had allowed him to escape, and made no attempt to follow. I glanced at my watch. It was past half-past two! What would the cabman think of me outside-and I had left three parcels in his cab! – and Hetty and her mother waiting for me at St James' Hall. I went to the door and turned the handle. It declined to yield. Imagining that there might be some trick in opening it, perhaps connected with the spring-because I knew that they had all sorts of queer inventions in the city-I rapped at the panel.
"Mr Miller!" I cried. "Mr Miller! Will you open this door, please, and be quick, because I'm late already!"
No answer. I rapped again-and called again. Then-at last! – I suspected. I stooped down and saw that the door was locked. I banged at it with both my fists.
"Mr Miller! How dare you lock the door. Open it at once and let me out!"
But not a bit of it. That was not his intention at all. Whether he was or was not on the other side I could not tell. It was a great, strong, heavy door, and so long as he chose to keep it locked, it was impossible for me to find out.