Kitabı oku: «Miser Farebrother: A Novel (vol. 3 of 3)», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XVI
JEREMIAH AND HIS MOTHER DISAPPEAR
That was the busiest of days. There was so much for Richard Garden to do that the wonder was how the young fellow got through it. There were reports from Kiss and Linton to receive from time to time; interviews to be held with the Home Secretary; interviews also with the judge and with the lawyers for the prosecution; test examinations of Tom Barley by experts in colour-blindness; excursions to Scotland Yard; and a thousand matters to be attended to. Other persons were busy as well. There was sunshine once more in Aunt Leth's house; the family were looking forward with eager impatience to the joy of their dear girl's release; the room which Phœbe shared with Fanny was made bright with flowers and ribbons; every bit of furniture in the house was polished, every saucepan lid scoured. Uncle Leth came home early from the bank, loaded with delicacies for Phœbe. Yes; everything was for Phœbe. Clean linen on every bed, a fire in every room, her own chair here in this corner, on the table the books she loved, the piano open, with her favourite songs ready, her desk looking like new, with fresh ink and pens and paper – everywhere spiritual signs of love. "Oh mamma, mamma!" sighed Fanny again and again, and, clasped in each other's arms, the mother and daughter wept happy tears, and kissed and laughed, and then broke into tears again. "But we must be patient, darling," said Aunt Leth. "See what Fred says in this telegram – 'It cannot be to-day. There are formalities to be gone through. I have seen Phœbe. She knows something, but not all. I feared that the shock would be too great. They say in the prison that she is an angel. She sends you her dearest love. I cannot come to you. Dick and I are very busy. God bless you all!' So you see, Fanny, we must be patient." Telegrams were flying to and fro all the day. 'Melia Jane was wild with joy. "Tom may come now when he likes," she said, "and I shall have a beautiful fortune to tell him." But Tom did not come to the house, nor did he send a message, of even a single word.
At eight o'clock in the evening Fred was alone in his rooms, waiting for Kiss, who had arranged to come for him. In company with Linton and a policeman in private clothes they were to follow Jeremiah and his mother when those two left their lodgings to meet the woman who had stolen the bracelet. They were not acquainted with the place of meeting, but it had been settled that the Pamfletts should be stealthily followed, and that steps should be taken to overhear what took place between them and the woman, and that afterward the three should be arrested. Garden could not form one of the party: he had too much to attend to.
It was destined, however, that this carefully-laid plan was not to be carried out. Everything else had succeeded, but this part of the programme of action was doomed to failure.
Kiss did not appear until half past eight, and when he entered the room Fred divined from the distress depicted in his face that something had gone wrong. His first words were:
"They have escaped us, Mr. Cornwall."
"Escaped you!" cried Fred, in great excitement.
"Yes. It is an unfortunate fact. I could beat my head against the wall. Whether their suspicions were aroused, or whether they had previously decided upon some course of action of which we were in ignorance, I cannot say; but they have disappeared, and so mysteriously that we don't know what to make of it."
"You, or one of you, saw them go, surely?"
"No, sir, we did not; and that is the strangest part of it. We all thought they were in their rooms; nothing had been heard of them for three or four hours, and we supposed they were asleep. At last Mrs. Linton came down from her cupboard, and said she did not know what to think of it, but it really seemed to her as if their rooms must be empty. Upon this the landlady said she would go up and ask them whether they required anything, and she did so; a minute afterward she called to us to come up, and we went. Their rooms were empty; the fiends had disappeared; and that they were gone for good was proved by their having taken certain things with them which, if they had only gone on an errand, they need not have touched."
"Perhaps they will come back," said Fred.
"Not they, sir," said Kiss, shaking his head. "They are a cunning pair, and they know what they are about. They have thrown us off the scent, Mr. Cornwall; there's no doubt in my mind about that."
Fred considered a moment. "You have the address of the woman they were to meet?"
"Yes, Mr. Cornwall."
"Give it to me. I will rattle there in a cab, and if I cannot learn anything about her, I will join you at No. 12."
"You will find it difficult to obtain any information of her, sir."
"Money will accomplish anything. I shall find out what I want to know."
Promising the cabman double fare if he drove at his fastest pace, Fred, in less than half an hour, arrived at the woman's lodgings. The landlady, as Kiss had foreseen, was disinclined to speak of her lodger, but a tip of half a sovereign and the promise of another loosened her tongue.
"I don't see, after all," said the landlady, "why I shouldn't oblige you. She has left the rooms, and is not coming back."
Then she related how the woman had gone away in an open manner, saying that she was about to leave England, and did not intend to return. She was not going abroad alone; some friends were going with her. That was all.
"Can you tell me her name?" asked Fred.
The landlady replied that she did not know it.
That was the extent of the information Fred could obtain; and there was nothing for it but to go back to Surrey Street and ascertain whether anything had been heard of the Pamfletts. Nothing had been heard, and none of the neighbours could enlighten them. It was evident that they must have taken the greatest pains to get out of the neighbourhood unobserved.
When Garden was informed of what had taken place he was inexpressibly annoyed. It happened that Tom Barley was with him when Fred was giving an account of the occurrence.
"Ah, well," said Garden, presently, "we must make the best of it. We must put the police on their guard immediately. The night trains to the Continent must be watched, and to-morrow we will offer a reward for their apprehension. I may manage to get an advertisement in some of the papers to-night. I have seen Mr. Quinlan, the wealthy owner of the stolen bracelet, and he has admitted that it was the genuine one which was stolen. He said he told the story to the police and the reporters in order that he should not be annoyed. 'I am rich enough to be able to afford such a loss,' he said. Wish we were – eh, Fred? I doubt whether I should have succeeded in prevailing upon him to let me pursue the case had I not informed him that in connection with it was a diabolical murder, for which an innocent girl had been condemned to death. 'The man who has the bracelet,' I said, 'is the man who committed the murder, and he and another laid an infernal plot to bring a beautiful girl to a shameful end.' This excited him, and he has given me carte blanche as to the expenses. So to-morrow we will offer a reward of five hundred pounds for the apprehension of Jeremiah Pamflett and his mother. It is good to know that their disappearance will not retard Miss Farebrother's release; everything is in training for that happy event. Ill as I can afford it, I would give something out of my own pocket to know what takes place to-night between the murderers and thieves."
To some extent, the late editions of the newspapers on the following day supplied him and the country with the intelligence he desired to obtain:
"THE MURDER OF MISER FAREBROTHER. – THE MYSTERY OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. – STRANGE REVELATIONS.
"The painful interest excited in the public mind by the trial of Miss Farebrother for the murder of her father, Miser Farebrother – a crime of which, in the teeth of the verdict, the young lady is now incontestably proved to be innocent – will be revived by the account we now publish of an outrage which took place last night, in an untenanted timber-yard near Nine Elms.
"These premises have been unoccupied for some considerable time. They are of large extent, and out of the way of regular traffic. Early this morning, just before sunrise, the policeman on the beat, passing the timber-yard, heard a sound as of a person moaning within. Entrance to the yard is obtained through a pair of wooden gates, which are in a very dilapidated condition, being practically off their hinges. Indeed, by persons of the neighbourhood they are regarded as unsafe, and as likely soon to fall to pieces. The policeman, passing through these gates and going some distance into the yard – his course being guided by the faint moaning which had first arrested his attention – saw before him a woman in a frightful state. She was bleeding from a deep wound at the back of her neck, which must have been inflicted some hours previously, and was not sufficiently sensible to understand or reply to the questions addressed to her. Without delay the policeman procured assistance, and the woman was conveyed to St. Thomas's Hospital, where she was examined by the surgeon, who pronounced the wound she had received fatal, giving it as his opinion that she could not live twenty-four hours. Her pockets, which bore the appearance of having been rifled, contained nothing which afforded a clue to her name or address, nor were her clothes marked in a way which would lead to her identification. At ten o'clock this morning the woman recovered consciousness, and being made sensible that death was approaching, requested the presence of a magistrate, to whom she made her dying deposition, which we give here word for word:
"'My name is Maria Baily. I was in the employ of a wealthy lady, Mrs. Quinlan. I was acquainted with a man who called himself Captain Ablewhite, but that is not his right name, and I don't know what is. He promised to marry me, and he prevailed upon me to steal a diamond bracelet of great value. It was worth forty or fifty thousand pounds. What I did with the bracelet after I took it from the jewel-safe of my mistress has been described in all the papers. We were stopping at the Langham Hotel. A man was waiting outside on the night I stole it, and I went and gave it to him, and then I ran away from my service to a room Captain Ablewhite had taken for me in Leman Street, Whitechapel. Captain Ablewhite told me that the man to whom I gave the bracelet was named Jeremiah Pamflett, and that his master, a rich money-lender, Miser Farebrother, was going to lend money on it. Three days after I stole the bracelet Captain Ablewhite took me away to Germany, and I remained with him some time.
"'He told me that Jeremiah Pamflett had cheated him; that he had promised to get four thousand pounds from Miser Farebrother for the bracelet, and that Jeremiah Pamflett had given him only two hundred. When the account was put into the newspapers that the bracelet I had stolen was of no value, and that the stones in it were false, Captain Ablewhite said it was not true, and that the bracelet I had given to Jeremiah Pamflett was the real one. Then Captain Ablewhite quarrelled with me, and deserted me. Not knowing what to do, I returned to London and found out Jeremiah Pamflett. I thought it would have been difficult to find him, but it was very easy, because his master had been murdered, and there was a great trial just over, in which Miser Farebrother's daughter had been found guilty of the murder of her father. Jeremiah Pamflett tried to escape from me; but I would not let him, and the end of it was that he confessed he had the bracelet in his possession; and he proposed that he, his mother, and I should all go away together to America, where he would be able to sell the diamonds, and where, changing our names, we could live in safety. We were to meet last night at Nine Elms, and he and his mother were there when I arrived. So that we could talk together undisturbed, he took me to the place in which I was discovered, and there we had a quarrel. He wanted to give me ten pounds only, and said that he would send me more after he got safely away. I was in a great passion, and I asked him if Miser Farebrother had given him four thousand pounds for the bracelet – which money he said he had given to Captain Ablewhite – how it was that it was now in his possession. He said that was his business; and then we got to higher words, and I accused him of murdering Miser Farebrother so that he might rob him. Then Jeremiah Pamflett said: "Do you want to know the truth? I did kill him; and that is how I got the bracelet back again. But you shall not live to tell anybody else. I will kill you as I killed the miser!" As he said that, he plunged a knife into me, and I fell to the ground. The last words I heard were what his mother said: "She is dead; you have killed her. Let us get away as quick as possible." I do not remember anything more. I know I am dying. And I swear to God that I have told nothing but the truth!'
"Maria Baily signed this deposition, and then almost immediately became unconscious. The latest reports are to the effect that she cannot live through the night.
"Thus, in a strange and providential manner, a frightful injustice has been averted. It is singular that on the very day on which Jeremiah Pamflett committed this second murder, other evidence was obtained of the innocence of the young lady who, by an error of justice, was pronounced guilty of the murder of her father. The strongest evidence against the unfortunate and cruelly-wronged lady was supplied by a friend who had a deep affection for her. We refer to the evidence of Tom Barley, a policeman, who swore that he saw in the grounds of Parksides, at the time of the murder of the miser, a woman in a blue dress. Such a dress did Miss Farebrother wear when she went from her aunt's house in London, with the intention of asking her father for some assistance by which her aunt's family could be extricated from a temporary difficulty. It is now proved that Tom Barley is colour-blind, and that the woman he really saw had on a pink dress, such as Mrs. Pamflett, Jeremiah Pamflett's mother, wore on that occasion. This strange discovery opens up a fruitful field of speculation. Other evidence is also forthcoming which indubitably establishes Miss Farebrother's innocence.
"There is now no reason to doubt that the story related by Mrs. Pamflett of the events of the night on which Miser Farebrother met his death was from first to last a cunningly invented fabrication. Part of this evidence is supplied by a gentleman who has been absent from England on business, and who testifies that Jeremiah Pamflett did not return to Miser Farebrother's London office until seven o'clock of the morning of the murder. It will be remembered that Jeremiah Pamflett swore that he returned at eleven o'clock on the previous night. He and his mother are at large: they could scarcely have had time and opportunity to effect their escape, as a watch was kept upon all the outgoing trains to the Continent last night. The police are on the alert, and it is to be hoped, in the interests of justice, that the criminals will soon be arrested and put upon their trial for their diabolical crimes."
CHAPTER XVII
CHIEFLY CONCERNING FANNY
Of all Phœbe's friends and well-wishers there was only one who did not openly share in the joy occasioned by her release. Congratulations poured in from all sides, even from strangers at a distance, whose letters of sympathy were delivered by smiling postmen at Aunt Leth's house at least half a dozen times a day. Phœbe's escape from her dread peril was, indeed, universally hailed with thankfulness and gratitude. Everybody was glad; the newspapers found in it a fruitful theme for grave disquisition; and Phœbe became a heroine in the best and sweetest sense of the term. As for Uncle Leth's day-dreams, as he walked to his bank in the morning and home from his day's labours in the evening, imagination could not excel them in delightfulness. Sunshine reigned in his home and in the hearts of all he loved.
The one friend who held aloof was Tom Barley. No person was more profoundly grateful than he at the proclamation of Phœbe's innocence; but he contracted a horror of himself as being the principal cause of his dear young mistress's sufferings. All appeals to him to soften this hard judgment were vain; he would scarcely listen to them, and when, against his will, he was compelled to do so, they had no effect upon him.
"It ain't a bit of good speaking to me," he said, moodily; "I don't deserve to live. And I shouldn't care to but for one thing."
That one thing was a fierce burning desire to bring Jeremiah Pamflett and his wicked mother to justice. For, strange to say, all the vigilance of the police had proved fruitless; the wretches were still at liberty, and not the slightest clue to their hiding-place had been discovered. A month had passed since Phœbe's release, and they had successfully evaded pursuit. It was believed by some that they had escaped from the country; but Tom Barley held a different opinion. He was still in the force – a capable, faithful public servant, zealous and judicious in the performance of his duties, and regarded with esteem by his superiors; but a blight had fallen upon his life – a blight which he felt would not be removed until, through him, and through him alone, justice was satisfied. This idea grew into a kind of disease in him. It seemed as if he could exist without sleep. When not on duty he was indefatigable in hunting up clues, in making secret inquiries, in keeping watch in out-of-the-way places for the monsters of iniquity at whose door a double murder lay. He took no person into his confidence; he would accept no assistance; and he devoted every spare minute to the design upon which he had set his heart. His friends did not relinquish their efforts to woo him to a more peaceful and better frame of mind. Accompanied by Fred Cornwall, Phœbe went to him, and begged him not to torment himself with self-reproach. He listened to her in silence, with head bent down.
"Will you not speak to me, Tom?" she asked, imploringly.
"What can I say?" was his humble response. "How can I hope that you will ever forgive me?"
"But there is nothing to forgive, Tom," she said, sweetly, holding out her hand.
"It is like you to say so," he replied, "and it makes it all the worse for me."
"I never knew you to be unkind to me before, Tom," she said.
He turned away from her, and would not accept her hand. Fred Cornwall followed him, and said,
"You should not make her suffer, Tom; you are inflicting great pain upon the sweetest lady in the world."
"She is that, sir," said Tom, "and more. If I could die at her feet to save her a minute's pain I'd be glad to do it. Look here, sir; when I bring two devils to justice I'll ask her to forgive me; but not till then!"
'Melia Jane tried her arts upon him, and even waylaid him one night in a quiet corner, with a pack of cards in her hands, with which she begged to be allowed to tell his fortune; but he was adamant. Nevertheless, his friends would not desert him.
"He is too good a fellow to be lost sight of," said Fred Cornwall; "we'll win him back to us yet."
There was a bright future before Fred and his dear girl. Miser Farebrother had died without a will, and Phœbe came into possession of the property he left behind him. Investigation proved that it had been tampered with by Jeremiah Pamflett, but a competence was saved from the wreck. The greatest happiness Phœbe derived from this was that it enabled her to assist Aunt and Uncle Leth out of their difficulties. Happy were the evenings spent in the old home in Camden Town. Affairs were prospering with Fred Cornwall in the exercise of his profession. Events had brought his name into prominence, and briefs were flowing in. In a great measure he had Dick Garden to thank for this better turn in his fortunes. This astute young fellow would not take all the credit to himself of setting justice right; he made it public that it was due equally to his friend Fred, and both of them were on the high-road to fame. Fred seldom made his appearance in Aunt Leth's house without Dick, who seemed to find therein some great attraction. The strange and solemn experiences of the last few weeks had made Fanny Lethbridge quieter and less lively than of old; but occasionally flashes of her pleasant, saucy humour peeped out, to the delight of all, and especially to the delight of Dick Garden, who generally contrived to obtain a seat next to her. It was too soon for teasing to commence, else Bob, who was suspected of having a second or third love affair on hand, might have ventured retaliation upon his sister, and, judging from what was stirring in Fanny's heart, he would assuredly have had the best of it. For the present, however, she was spared; the spirit of tender, grateful love which reigned in the happy home was too profound even for innocent jest. Doubtless, however, the time would come when the merry equilibrium would be restored.
"Fred," said Dick Garden, as they were walking home one night from the Lethbridges', "when are you and Miss Farebrother going to get married?"
"Not settled yet," replied Fred; "nothing said about it. We must let some nine or ten months pass, I suppose."
"About this time next year, perhaps?"
"Yes; or a little earlier if I can bring it about. Thinking of anything particular, Dick?"
"Yes, old fellow."
"In connection with our wedding?"
"Well – partly."
"With weddings generally, then?"
"Not generally, Fred, specifically. Of course a fellow doesn't know anything yet."
"Of course not," said Fred, smiling. "Shall I guess a name?"
"Try."
"Fanny?"
"Yes, Fanny," said Dick Garden, and then there was a little pause. "Fred, you have known them a long time?"
"I have."
"Good people?"
"The best, the sweetest, the most faithful and devoted. Would to Heaven the world was filled with such!"
"I am with you there. But what I want to ask you is about Miss Lethbridge."
"Fanny? Yes."
"I don't wish you to betray family secrets, old fellow; but she is such a lovely girl – "
"She is."
"With so beautiful a nature that she could not fail to have attracted – you know what I mean, Fred; I am putting it rather lamely."
"An attachment?"
"Yes; but you put it somewhat coarsely."
"Didn't mean to, Dick. Quite right that you should be sensitive. Attracted? Rather! A dozen at least have sighed for her, and sighed in vain."
"Why?"
"Not the right ones, Dick. If there is one quality above another which distinguishes Fanny it is genuineness. A more genuine girl doesn't breathe. Dick, to be admitted upon terms of intimacy with that family is a privilege."
"I esteem it such. Not the right ones, Fred? Of course that must be the reason."
"It is. Where she gives her hand she will give her heart. They go together – both or none."
"Do you think – that is, have you any sort of idea – that she has met the right one at last?"
"Seriously, Dick? In perfect faith and honour?"
"Seriously, Fred. In perfect faith and honour."
"Dick, old boy," said Fred, earnestly, "I have a sort of idea that she has."
"You are a shrewd fellow, Fred – you have a trick of observation. You know what I mean?"
"I do, Dick."
"Well, then, good luck to us!"
The month was November; a fog was gathering; a light mist was dissolving, and falling cold and chill; but Dick Garden was glowing from within. As he was buttoning his coat a man brushed past them, and Fred caught a glimpse of his face.
"A moment, Dick," he said, hurriedly, "that is Tom Barley. I must have a word with him."
He hastened after Tom, and accosted him.
"It is you, Tom. Have you any news?"
"None, sir – that is, none that I can speak of. Don't stop me, please; I haven't a minute to spare." These words came straggling from Tom's lips, and in his anxiety he seemed to be hardly aware of what he was saying.
"Am I mistaken in the idea that you have heard something?" asked Fred.
"No, sir, you are not mistaken. I am on their track."
"As you have been before, Tom?"
"That's true, sir," said Tom, with a sigh; "as I have been before."
"Can I assist you?"
"No, sir; nor any one. What I do I'll do single-handed." He wrenched himself free. "Good-night, sir."
"Only another word, Tom. Have you any message for Miss Phœbe? She told me, if I met you, to give you her love."
"Did she, sir? She's an angel of goodness. Any message, sir? Yes, this – if I don't live to accomplish what I've set my life upon, if I don't live to ask her forgiveness myself, to think of me kindly sometimes as a man who would gladly have died for her!"
He darted away, and was lost in the mist. Fred gazed thoughtfully after him, and then he rejoined Garden.
"There goes an honest, suffering man," he said; "thorough to the backbone. He has inflicted a martyrdom upon himself, and is following a will-o'-the-wisp."
But the events of the next few hours were destined to prove that Fred Cornwall was in error.
