Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 62

Since his marriage with Aveline Maitland the reader has heard but little of Tom Gatliffe. The young engineer was the best and most loving of husbands; he worked steadily at his business, and in every respect was persevering in his endeavours to improve his position; but trade at the works where he was employed was not nearly so flourishing as it had been prior to his marriage. He, in common with his fellow-workmen, suffered by the depression.

After remaining two years at Rotheram he accepted an offer to take the management of some works in London.

He had another reason for doing this. His young wife had grown tired of Sheffield, Rotheram, and their surroundings, and yearned to be a denizen of the great city about which she had heard so much, but of which she had seen so little.

Aveline Gatliffe showed symptoms of discontent—​she wanted some change of scene.

Her husband took a charming house at Wood-green, which he furnished, not grandly, perhaps, but with every comfort which persons in their station of life could desire.

Here he, his wife, and their child—​a beautiful little boy of about three years old—​were located.

Let us pay a visit to the home of the British workman.

At the door of the habitation stands a young and beautiful woman. She is barely two and twenty, but does not look even as old as that; her hair of shining brown looks like gold in the sunshine; her eyes are of violet blue; her dress is quite plain, but the homely material only showed the grace and beauty of her figure to greater advantage. Such are the most noticeable features of Aveline Gatliffe.

One might have wondered how she—​living in a cottage, the wife of a man who worked hard for his daily bread—​came by this dainty beauty, this delicate loveliness which would have been fit dowry for a duchess.

The young wife’s gaze was directed down the road which led to the station; the rays of the setting sun cast long shadows across this from the trees which skirted its sides.

Presently her countenance was irradiated with a smile. She heard the sounds of approaching footsteps, she hastened onwards, and in a few minutes she saw her husband in the distance.

“Ah, dearest, you’ve been waiting and watching for me. Is it not so?” cried Tom Gatliffe.

The young woman smiled and nodded; then they walked slowly home together.

“I hope you have not been dull to-day,” said Tom, when the two entered the parlour. “I don’t like to see you dull.”

“I have been as lively as usual,” she answered.

“Umph, that’s not saying much, darling,” returned the husband in a tone of banter. “Not much, you’ll admit. At present the place is new and strange to you. In time you will be more used to it.”

“Shall I?” she murmured.

“Why of course you will.”

“Make haste and get rich, Tom dear; then we can have a grand house in London.”

His countenance fell as he listened to her. For a long time she had appeared discontented with her lot, and this had been a sore trouble to Gatliffe, who found, as others had found before him, that matrimony was not all smooth sailing.

As yet there had been no storm, but distant rumblings of thunder had been heard.

He drew the beautiful face of his young wife towards him, and kissed it with a fondness which spoke more eloquently than words.

“My dear Aveline,” he murmured, “our little house is to me more beautiful than a palace. The reason is plain enough—​it contains you.”

She looked up into his face and smiled faintly.

“And I am sure you are of the same opinion,” he added.

“It is well enough, Tom, but——”

“But what, dear?”

“Oh nothing; the time will come, let us hope, when we shall own a grand mansion and have all sorts of beautiful things.”

The young engineer looked troubled. This was not the first time by many that he had heard her express a similar wish.

“I don’t know what to make of her,” he muttered to himself. “Of late a change appears to have come over her.”

“Look here, Aveline,” he said, more solemnly, “mark what I say; I don’t think you will be ever happier than you are now. It is not the place—​it is not grandeur that ensures happiness—​it is a contented mind; that you have.”

“Well, I hope I have.”

“You ought. I have; your beauty makes my heart glad, your love makes earth heaven to me.”

“Mercy on us, what a speech after four years of matrimony! Oh, you dear old fellow,” she ejaculated, clapping her hands together—​“dear good old Tom!”

He laughed outright.

“Go on,” he exclaimed.

“Well, then, I will. Shall I tell you that I long for this great bright world that you despise?”

“Then I don’t, and there’s the difference. If we were rich and lived in the great world you speak of so rapturously, you would belong to so many others. Others would delight in your society and follow you with praise, and then I should be jealous. Here, I have you all to myself, which is the very thing I desire.”

“Will it be very long before you are rich?” she enquired carelessly.

“My darling, how can I possibly tell, and after all what does it matter? How often have I told you that riches do not bring happiness?”

“It may be so, but I should like to try.”

She did not perceive how her words jarred upon his sensitive nature. An expression of pain passed over his fine features, and he said no more for some little time.

He sat down and ate his evening meal in silence.

“I hope I have not offended you,” said his wife.

“I do not believe it possible for you to do so,” returned he. “You ask me when I shall be rich. I have two or three inventions—​one I was about to work out with Charles Peace.”

“Oh the horrid man! Don’t have anything to do with him.”

“I don’t intend, but he has great ingenuity nevertheless; but let that pass. The inventions I am now endeavouring to bring to perfection may turn out successful. If only one of them does so I shall be a rich man; then I suppose you will be satisfied.”

“Oh yes, that would be glorious; but it’s not certain, I suppose.”

“My dear, nothing is certain in this life,” he said quickly. “Positively nothing, except hard work for us all.”

For some time after this both husband and wife remained silent. She cleared the supper table, and he lighted his pipe.

She sat herself down by his side. Presently she said—

“Tom, I should dearly like to know who I am.”

He started, and glanced quickly at her.

“Who you are—​you are my wife.”

“Yes, I know, but who my mother was, and my father. It is strange that there should be such a mystery hanging over me.”

“What puts that into your head all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. My mother was a lady, and I am, moreover, sure that I am one myself, although I have been brought up in a homely manner. No matter for that—​I am a lady myself—​you may laugh at me, but I feel like one, or rather how I imagine a lady should feel. I love all things bright and beautiful. I detest everything mean, paltry, and contemptible. You think I am discontented, but this is not so. Nevertheless, I am free to confess that I have tastes which, perhaps, will never be gratified—​longings which never can be realised. Is it my fault that a dark mystery hangs over me?”

“Life itself is a mystery,” he answered. “The world is full of mysteries. You must not give way to these gloomy thoughts—​you must not indeed, dearest.”

“No, I will not.”

“My darling,” said Tom, noting the sad tone in which the reply was made, “whatever induced you to think riches must necessarily bring happiness?”

“I don’t know, indeed,” replied his wife. “There are times when the monotony of this life seems more than I can bear.”

“You would find the same monotony in any sphere of existence. What says the poet—

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,

Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

But there is surely no reason, dearest, why we should endorse the sentiment.”

“None whatever, Tom. You are kindness itself,” responded his wife, with a loving kiss.

“By the way, I have not as yet told you that a strange gentleman called at the works to-day. He wanted to see Mrs. Maitland upon very pressing business.”

“Ah, is that so? Who is he?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. He said his name was Wrench. Do you remember if your mother ever knew a person of that name?”

“Not that I ever heard of. What did you tell him?”

“I gave him her address.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Maitland resided with her niece, whose house was within half a mile of Tom Gatliffe’s residence. While the foregoing conversation had been taking place the worthy old lady was having a tête-à-tête with the sagacious detective, who had explained to her his reason for waiting upon her.

Mrs. Maitland narrated to him all the circumstances connected with the young girl Aveline, whom she had adopted and brought up as her daughter.

She explained to him how she had fallen into her hands when little more than an infant; explained to him also the accident on the line, how the mother and daughter were brought into the infirmary at Derby, with the death of the former, together with all those particulars which the reader has read in an earlier portion of this work.

Mr. Wrenoh was charmed—​he was perfectly delighted with the successful nature of his visit, and felt perfectly assured that he was on the right scent.

“And the trinkets—​the articles of jewellery, madame,” said he, “are you still in possession of them?”

“Oh, yes. Nothing would have induced me to part with them, except to those who require them for the purpose of identification.”

“Quite right, madam. I presume you will have no objection to intrust them to my care for a few days? They are quite safe in my hands. It will be needful for Lord Ethalwood to examine them.”

“Cannot you do so? I will fetch them at once.”

The old lady went upstairs, unlocked an iron safe in which the trinkets were deposited, and returned with them into the parlour.

She placed them before the detective, who examined each article carefully.

“Well, what do you make of them?” inquired his companion.

“There can be no doubt about the matter,” said he. “One of the rings bears the motto and crest of the Ethalwoods; and, as far as I can judge at present, this portrait bears a close resemblance to Lord Ethalwood’s daughter.”

“Then my little protégée, my darling child, is——”

“The grand-daughter of a nobleman.”

Mrs. Maitland’s breath was almost taken away at this announcement.

“Wonderful—​more than wonderful!” she ejaculated. “And is it possible that she has been left uncared for and unacknowledged all these years?”

Mr. Wrench shrugged his shoulders. “It would appear so,” he said, “but there are reasons for this my dear madam, very strong reasons. I suppose if I give you a receipt for these articles you will permit me to take them to Broxbridge Hall. I pledge you my word of honour, that, come what may, they shall be returned to you in the course of a few days.”

“Oh, indeed, I cannot do that.”

“I swear they shall be returned in a week.”

“I don’t like to part with them. If they should be lost.”

“They will not be lost. I will answer for that.”

No. 15.

PEACE FIRED, AND WOUNDED THE GIPSY JUST AS HE GAINED THE BANK.

“Oh, I dare say you will be careful enough, but still I hardly know how to act in a case of this sort.”

“We can do nothing without them. Will you accompany me to Broxbridge Hall, and bring them with you?”

“I am not well enough to bear the fatigue of travelling so far. I have not as yet recovered from a serious illness.”

“I leave the matter in your hands. I can get an order in the course of a day or two for you to produce them, but it would be saving a great deal of trouble if you would accede to my request. Yet once for all I must tell you, madam, that Lord Ethalwood counts the hours till I return. He is in the greatest state of anxiety. I have his written authority to act in this matter, the same as himself.”

Mr. Wrench pulled from his pocket a document in the handwriting of Lord Ethalwood, bearing his signature and seal, by which Mr. Wrench was empowered to act according to his own impression in all matters concerning the inquiry he was pursuing.

Mrs. Maitland put on her spectacles, and perused the document in question.

“It is altogether a most wonderful affair,” said the old lady. “To think that all these years should have gone by without any inquiry being made after my little pet. Still, I suppose, I have no right to refuse you; only, you see, I’m loth to part with these articles. Perhaps I had first of all better consult those to whom they in reality belong.”

“And who are they?”

“My adopted daughter and her husband.”

“I would not presume to dictate, madam, but at the same time you will do wisely, I think, by not mentioning the subject to either the lady or her husband till we know whether she is the person, or rather the daughter of the person, I am seeking. That would be the most prudent course. It would be an act of cruelty to raise hopes, which, after all, might have no foundation in fact.”

“That is true,” returned Mrs. Maitland. “I will not mention the subject at present to either of them.”

“If you are mistrustful of me,” said the detective, with a smile, “you can send these articles of jewellery to Scotland-yard. It amounts to much the same thing, for they will be handed to the officer who has charge of the case, and that is myself, as you are pretty well assured of by this time, I suppose.”

“I hope you do not imagine, Mr. Wrench, that I am casting any slight on you by my hesitation—​far from it. I have every confidence in you. I ought to have, seeing the trouble you have been at to find out his lordship’s missing daughter or descendants. You had better give me an acknowledgment for the receipt of these articles, and take them with you without further delay. Please let me know, at your earliest convenience, the result of your interview with Lord Ethalwood.”

“That you may depend upon, madam.”

“It is to me most extraordinary how you found me out,” said the widow as she was proceeding to pack up the jewellery in its case.

“I doubt if I should—​perhaps never—​have succeeded in doing so, had I not by the merest chance in the world met with a townsman of yours—​a Mr. Peace,” returned the detective.

“Mr. Peace!” exclaimed the widow, in a tone of surprise. “Dear me—​how very remarkable!”

“Yes, very. He was acquainted with you some four or five years since.”

The widow nodded. “Yes, he was,” she said sharply. “Mr. Peace, eh? Well, he is the last man in the world I should have thought of.”

The jewellery was placed in a morocco case, and handed to Mr. Wrench, who at once wrote out a receipt for the same. He then placed the case and its contents in the breast pocket of his coat, and took his departure, well satisfied with the result of his visit.