Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 26
ОглавлениеTHE PROPOSAL—MRS. MAITLAND BECOMES COMMUNICATIVE.
Humiliated and crestfallen, Peace returned to his old haunts at Sheffield. He solaced himself by writing a long and affectionate letter to Bessie Dalton, of whom he had taken but little notice for some time past; now he endeavoured to make amends for his neglect.
The excuses he made for this were, as a matter of course, mainly drawn from his own imagination, which, as far as false statements were concerned, was at all times fertile enough.
He mixed freely with his boon companions and played the violin nightly at one or more of the sing-songs held at the public-houses in the town. He had “the gift of the gab,” as it is termed, could converse glibely enough upon most topics, in addition to which he had quaint sayings and amusing ways, which went far towards ensuring him a cordial reception from the frequenters of the houses he chose to honour with a visit.
In many ways Peace was a remarkable man. He was a consummate scoundrel from the outset to the close of his career, but he could be, when he chose, a very plausible one.
Had he not been this he could never have imposed upon so many persons as he did.
But, despite his well-affected hilarity, grief lay heavy at his heart when he thought of the beauteous Aveline Maitland.
Her image was for ever presenting itself to his vision.
“But she’s far beyond my reach,” he would murmur. “She never would have listened to me under any circumstances. No, she’s too far removed from such as me.”
The more he thought over the matter the more he became impressed with the fact. The only wonder is that he had not arrived at this conclusion from the very first.
His successful rival, Tom Gatliffe, had been on terms of the closest intimacy with Mrs. Maitland and Aveline. His love for the latter had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength. He positively worshipped the fair young creature who had so enslaved him, but for a long time he had remained silent upon the subject which engrossed his whole thoughts.
Young Gatliffe belonged to what is called the industrial class, but he had received an education superior to the generality of men in his station of life. He was by trade an engineer.
Patient, self-reliant, and industrious, he had won for himself a good position in one of the leading firms in Sheffield. His employers had great confidence in him, and he was a young man who gave early promise of pushing his way in the world. He was steady, frugal, and had already saved a considerable sum of money. He had of late become more persistent in his attentions to Aveline.
The end of this may be readily divined.
He avowed his love, and proposed.
Aveline did not refuse. On the contrary, she accepted him upon the condition that he was to broach the subject to Mrs. Maitland.
The young engineer was in an ecstacy of delight at his success so far.
Soon after his encounter with Peace he bent his steps towards the widow’s cottage, and sought an interview with its mistress.
Mrs. Maitland shrewdly guessed the object of his visit.
She conducted him into the front parlour, closed the door, and sat herself down in one of the arm-chairs, motioning her visitor to be seated in another.
“My dear Mrs. Maitland,” said Gatliffe. “It is indeed a subject of most serious import, as regards my own happiness, which has occasioned me to seek you. For a long time past I have been attached to your daughter—possibly you might have guessed this.”
The widow nodded.
“Ah, as I supposed.”
“And Aveline?”
“I have told her all—told her that a great golden blaze of light seemed to fall upon me when I first beheld her. I love her and have avowed my love. She bade me seek you—bade me ask your consent. That is why I am here.”
“I see and comprehend most fully. You love one another. Well, Mr. Gatliffe, you are not the first man who has been struck with Aveline—but let that pass. I esteem and respect you, and, as far as I am concerned, there will be no impediment in the way.”
“I think you too worthy a fellow to offer any objection to—you have my consent. As far as that is concerned, consider the matter settled. But there are other considerations,” she added, in a more serious tone.
“Considerations!” he exclaimed. “Possibly you allude to my position in life.”
“Oh, dear me, no—not for a moment.”
“Pray explain. Let me know the worst,” he ejaculated, in evident trepidation.
“In the first place,” answered the widow, “I must inform you that Aveline is not my daughter.”
“Not your daughter, Mrs. Maitland! Impossible!”
“No, but I am quite as fond of her as if she were my own child, but she is not, and I think it but right and proper that you should be put in possession of all the facts. She is not my daughter.”
“Whose daughter is she then?”
“That I cannot tell you. I have adopted her, and brought her up from infancy.”
“I am indeed surprised.”
“That is no more than I expected. Listen! You are perhaps not aware that I was at one time matron to the Derby Infirmary. It was while acting in this capacity that I first met with Aveline, who was then between two and three years old.
“There had been a collision on the line. Many persons were seriously injured, while some were picked out of the carriages dead.
“One poor lady was brought into the infirmary in a dying condition. When discovered, strange to say, a little girl, supposed to be her daughter, whom she clasped in her arms, was found to be uninjured; they were both conveyed to the infirmary.
“The mother was in a state of insensibility. After she had been attended to by the surgeon she rallied a little, and murmured once or twice, in a half dreamy state, the word ‘Aveline.’ The child answered to the name, and went to the bedside of the sufferer.
“We endeavoured to get the poor lady to tell us who she was, but she was too ill to speak, and the doctor forbade us making any more inquiries for the present.
“It was a pitiful sight, for you must understand that there were many other poor creatures besides her who required immediate attention, and of course it was the duty of myself and the nurses under my direction to see to them without a moment’s delay.
While thus engaged one of the nurses came to me, and whispered in my ear that the lady in bed No. 14 had breathed her last.
“I hastened to the spot, and found that her words were but too true. The child was crying, and I directed one of the women to take it into the house I occupied, and tell Rebecca, my servant, to take charge of it till I came.”
“And its mother?”
“Had passed away, as I have told you. Many others succumbed to the injuries they had received. Most—nay, indeed, I believe all—were identified by their relatives—all, save the lady and her child.
“For these no claimant could be found. Not the faintest scrap of intelligence reached us from any quarter to give a clue to their identification.
“The lady to all appearance belonged to the upper class. She had a sweet face and features of delicate mould; but who she was it is not possible to say. Neither do I think it likely now that we shall ever ascertain.”
“Goodness me—how singular! And had she nothing about her to denote who and what she was?”
“She wore round her neck a double gold locket, containing the portrait of a gentleman on one side, on the other was a likeness of the deceased lady, and, in addition to her wedding ring, she wore one with a motto and crest inside it. A description of her and the child, together with the jewellery she had on, appeared in the list of the dead and missing in the public papers at the time, but no one came forward to claim either the living or the dead.”
“Can such things be possible?” exclaimed Gatliffe.
“My dear sir, they are of frequent occurrence. If we could know the number of missing and unclaimed persons which every year furnishes us with, it would surprise most people. But what I am telling you now are simply facts which have come under my own observation.”
“And the mother, what became of her remains?”
“After every effort had been made to discover her relations, and we had given it up as hopeless, my husband paid for her funeral, and he said, at the same time, that he would never part with the child. Poor dear soul! he kept his word. She was by his bedside when his gentle spirit passed away. He almost worshipped Aveline, and she was equally attached to him. She has been indeed more than a daughter to us.”
“And have you the locket and the two rings?”
“They were kept in the hospital for some years, but upon my retiring, I begged them of the governors, and they at once gave orders for them to be handed over to me. I have them now.”
“And do not intend to part with them, I hope?”
“Certainly not. I consider they belong to Aveline.”
“Why, Mrs. Maitland, this is indeed an extraordinary story.”
“I have thought it a duty incumbent on me to furnish you with all the particulars. If, after hearing them, you are still disposed to have Aveline—”
“If!” ejaculated the young engineer. “You do not for a moment suppose I have any desire to cancel our engagement. No, my dear madam, it is an additional reason for my cherishing and protecting her.”
“Well, Tom, I hope—nay, I am sure—you will make her a good husband; and I frankly admit, if it had been left to me to select one for her, I should have chosen you.”
Gatliffe sprang to his feet, put his arms round the speaker’s neck, and kissed her fondly.
“Tush, tush, you silly boy,” said the widow, “what do you want to be kissing an old woman like me for?”
She was, however, not in any way angry with her companion.
“Is Aveline a Christian or surname, do you think?” queried Gatliffe.
“I took it to be a Christian name from the fact that the mother called her child to her bedside by it, and the little thing answered to it with the greatest alacrity. It is her Christian name now. She’ll not change it when she marries, I suppose,” added the widow, with a smile.
“I shall never call her by any other. You know, Mrs. Maitland, I am but in humble circumstances, but I have enough to give my dear Aveline all she can desire, and I hope in a short time to be more prosperous.”
“Ah, as to that, riches are not everything, though many persons think they are—I do not, however. By the way, Tom, do you know that Mr. Peace made Aveline an offer?”
“Yes, I’ve heard so; but she wouldn’t listen to him.”
“No, I candidly confess that I had rather a good opinion of him at one time—not as a suitor for Aveline, but I thought him good-natured and kindly disposed.”
“Probably he may be so.”
“But I have very much altered my opinion with regard to him—very much indeed,” returned the widow, with forcible emphasis.
Gatliffe refrained from offering any remark. It was evident, from his manner, that he did not want to dwell further on the subject.
Aveline now entered the room, whereupon her lover rose and embraced her.
“It is all settled, dearest,” he exclaimed, in a tone of delight. “You will learn the full particulars from Mrs. Maitland.”
“So you have been having a tete-à-tete, it seems.”
“Yes, we have, my child,” said Mrs. Maitland, “and a very satisfactory one it has proved to be.”
“I’m glad of that,” murmured Aveline. “You both seem well pleased.”
Young Gatliffe thought it was time to take his departure. He was elated with the successful nature of his interview with the widow, and thought it best to leave her alone with Aveline.
