"Lend me your scissors, and I will soon manage it," replied Alrina.
"There," continued she, as she ripped off the piece that it had taken Mrs. Brown so long to put in; "that"s soon done. Now, lend me your needle and thimble,--I"ll put in the piece, while we gossip a little of the latest news imported. Your thimble is too large;--haven"t you a smaller one in the house?"
"I believe our maid Polly have got one somewhere," said Mrs. Brown; "I"ll sarch for it."
"Poll! Poll! Polly!" said Mr. Brown, catching at the familiar sound: "come out in the stable, Polly,--the mare must want her gruel by this time. Wo! ho! Jessie, my beauty--wo! ho! mare!"
"Will you be quiet, John Brown?" said his wife, as she came downstairs with the thimble.
"Here, Miss Reeney, I s"pose this is too big for your little finger."
"Never mind, Mrs. Brown," said Alrina, who had by this time pinned on the proper piece; "I"ll make this do."
The work now went on briskly--Mrs. Brown knitting, and Alrina st.i.tching and gossipping between. While the work was going on, two miners came in, and asked for a pint of beer.
"Let me draw it, Mrs. Brown," said Alrina, putting down her work--"it will be a change of work too."
"Well, you shall if you are fancical," replied Mrs. Brown, smiling.
"Take the brown jug, my dear--that"s a pint exactly--and draw it out of the end cask. Blow off the froth and fill up again,--our customers don"t like the jug half full of froth, I can a.s.sure you."
So Alrina drew the beer, and received the money, as if she had been accustomed to it all her life, very much to the astonishment of the two men, who seemed puzzled at being tended by Miss Reeney;--but they liked it very well, nevertheless, and ere long asked for another pint, for the sake, no doubt, of receiving it from so fair a cup-bearer.
The two men were in a little room leading out of the kitchen, so that neither party could hear distinctly the conversation of the others,--nor was there much said by either party, indeed, worth the trouble of listening to.
When the men were gone, Mrs. Brown said, "Why, I shud think you had been used to the bar all your life, to see how handy you are; and you"ve nearly finished the work that I wor all the day about. Your husband will have a treasure, whoever he is."
"I shall never be married, Mrs. Brown," said Alrina, with a heavy sigh.
"Iss, Iss, you"ll be married fast enough, and I think I can tell his name, though I"m no conjuror, asking your pardon."
"I have not seen the man yet that I would marry," returned Alrina, with an effort.
"Oh! fie!" said Mrs. Brown; "you mustn"t say so to me; I wasn"t born yesterday, an" I can see a bra" way, though tes busy all, I"ll allow."
"What I have told you is perfectly true," replied Alrina; "and so far from thinking of marrying, I am going to try to get my own living,--will you take me into your service?"
"My dear young lady," replied Mrs. Brown, taking off her spectacles, and looking at Alrina steadily and seriously, "you mustn"t make game of your elders, nor look down with scorn upon those you may consider inferior in station to yourself,--but that remains to be proved. Take her (a boarding-school young lady) into my service! Did you hear that, John Brown?"
John Brown didn"t hear that, or if he did he didn"t understand it, for he made no reply.
"You seem as if you didn"t understand me, Mrs. Brown," said Alrina.
"No, sure, I don"t understand your meanin" at all," replied Mrs. Brown.
Alrina then related the circ.u.mstances of the morning to Mrs. Brown, whom she knew she could trust, and whose advice she knew she could rely on, for she was a shrewd intelligent woman. When she had finished her tale, Mrs. Brown took her hand, and said, "You must forgive me for my hasty speech just now. "Tes an ugly business, but you shall never want a house to shelter you, nor a bit of morsel to eat while I have got it for you."
"You don"t understand me now," said Alrina; "I will never accept charity, either in the shape of food, raiment, or shelter. What I ask you to do is this,--to take me into your service, to help you, as I have done this afternoon, for instance. I will take the burden of the house off your shoulders, and do the sewing, and attend to the bar. Poor Mr.
Brown is not able to do anything now, and indeed requires more of your attention than you have time to give him, and I cannot but remember that it was in consequence of some advice given him by my father (for what reason I know not), that Mr. Brown lost his mare, and became in consequence almost imbecile; and it is my duty, if possible, to repair the injury that has been done. I cannot return the mare, nor give Mr.
Brown renewed strength; but I can help you, and by that means you will have more time to devote to his little comforts. I don"t want money;--I merely want a home with a respectable family, to whom I can render services sufficient to remunerate them for their kindness, without having the feeling that I am maintained merely out of charity. Now do you understand what I mean?"
"I do," replied Mrs. Brown, "and it shall be as you wish, and I shall always respect and honour you for the n.o.ble and independent way in which you have acted."
This being settled, Alrina went back to her father"s house, to inform Alice Ann of what she had done; and, having arranged with Mrs. Brown that Alice Ann should sleep at her house also for a night or two, she locked up the house where so many evil deeds had been performed, and took up her residence at the "Commercial" Inn, as barmaid and general superintendent of the st.i.tchery of the household.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV.
CAPTAIN COURLAND"S RETURN AND HIS WIFE"S ANXIETY.
The man of cunning had proved himself more than a match for his pursuers. He had got the start of them, and was now out of their reach.
So the squire and Mr. Morley, accompanied by Josiah, prepared to retrace their steps, angry and crestfallen at having been thus outwitted. They walked on in silence until, on rounding a rock, they met Lieutenant Fowler and one of his men, who were evidently out on duty. Fowler seemed quite taken by surprise, and scarcely knew what to do; but he instinctively touched his cap to the squire, and, shaking Morley by the hand, was about to pa.s.s on. The squire, however, was too much engrossed with the matter in hand to remember his late treatment of the lieutenant, or the cause of it, and Morley was ignorant of the whole matter. So they both greeted Fowler heartily, and told him the whole affair, and pointed out the vessel which was bearing away their crafty deceiver. Fowler put his gla.s.s to his eye, and scanned the horizon after having looked attentively at the vessel.
"She"ll be back again" said he, "before long; there"s a storm rising."
"No! no!" replied the squire; "that fellow will not return to this coast again if he can by any possibility keep away; they"ll probably reach the Scilly Islands before the storm comes on."
"We shall see," said the lieutenant; "my men shall keep a good watch, however, all night. Good day gentlemen." And he touched his cap again, and was moving off.
"Where are you going in such a hurry, my dear fellow?" said Morley, "I haven"t seen you for an age. Come! I"m going up to your station to have a serious chat with you."
"Go on, then; I shall be home soon; but I must go round to see what the other men are about, whom I sent, some time ago, to watch a suspicious looking craft, round the next headland. Go up to my cabin, there"s a good fellow; for I want to have a serious chat with you too." So saying, he walked on, having seen that the squire had got on his stilts again after the first impulse had subsided; for he had walked on without taking any further notice of Fowler.
Mr. Morley, true to his appointment, declined the squire"s pressing invitation to dine with him at Pendrea-house, and proceeded towards Tol-pedn-Penwith station, where he had not been very long before his friend returned. After dinner, Fowler confided to him his secret, and the manner in which he had been treated by the squire. Morley at first treated it as a joke, saying, "Faint heart never won fair lady;" but on reflection he thought there must be some mistake, and that a mutual explanation would set all things right, which he undertook to perform.
But he was so anxious about his brother that he could not settle his mind to anything until he had found him or ascertained his fate. He had evidently been at Cooper"s house,--that was pretty certain, from what the old woman had said,--and it was also certain that he was not there now, for they had searched everywhere, nor was he at the Land"s-End, nor St. Just; nor had any trace of him been seen in that neighbourhood by anyone, and the boy had not been seen either, for some time. Mr.
Morley"s only conjecture now was, that he had probably escaped from Cooper"s cellar, and had returned to Ashley Hall, thinking that, as Josiah had seen Miss Freeman there, Alrina might be there also, concealed somewhere; and he no doubt thought that he would there also have the advice and a.s.sistance of his brother and Josiah whom he had left there; for Mr. Morley knew that neither of his letters had reached him, because he found them both lying at the Penzance post-office. He therefore determined at once to return to Ashley Hall. The more he thought of it, the more was he confirmed in this belief, and he also felt certain, that, having escaped through the underground cellar, and no trace of him having been discovered in the neighbourhood, his brother had, to avoid pursuit and suspicion, gone on board some vessel, bound to Bristol, and proceeded thither by water.
Mr. Morley wished to see Miss Pendray once more before he left; but his sense of duty prevailed over love, and he determined to start at once, that very night, and to leave nothing untried until he found his brother--dead or alive. He would have gone to Pendrea-house, just to see her for a moment, and take leave of her, but he was afraid to trust himself. She would have kept him on and on, he feared, until the chance of finding his brother might be gone. He knew her powers of fascination, and he would not trust himself to them. He would come back to love and pleasure with greater satisfaction after he had performed his duty.
He took the faithful Josiah with him; and so hasty was their departure, that poor Josiah had not time to return to St. Just, to take leave of Alice Ann, and so they did not know of the change that had taken place in the abode of the mistress and maid.
So sure did Mr. Morley feel, now, that Frederick had returned to Ashley Hall by water, that he did not make any inquiry on the road, but rode night and day, hiring fresh horses at every stage, until they reached the hall. Why he was so confident of finding his brother there he could scarcely tell; but as that was the only hope he seemed to have, and the only probable place to which he thought he could have gone, he seized it as the "forlorn hope," as it were, and brooded on it, so that it became fixed in his mind, and he would not allow any other thought to supersede it. How great was his disappointment, then, when he arrived at the hall, to find that his brother had not been seen there, nor had anything been heard of or from him, since he left it some weeks before. It was like a death stroke. He could scarcely believe it. He could not bring his mind back to the thought that his brother was lost. He searched everywhere.
Mrs. Courland and Julia were alarmed also when they heard how matters stood, and even the poor dumb girl was alarmed and agitated; for she saw there was something amiss, but she didn"t know what it was, and no one had the time or the inclination to tell her; so she wandered about the house, unheeded.
Captain Courland had returned, and had now given up the sea, having realized a handsome fortune, and looked forward to spending the remainder of his life in peace and happiness, with his beautiful wife, and her niece, Julia Morley, whom they had adopted as their own, and whom they were both very fond of. The first day of his arrival was a very happy one to him. He revelled in the society of his wife and niece, and nothing occurred to mar his happiness. Flora was kept out of the way in Mrs. Courland"s private apartments, where she had first been introduced to the house. These rooms had been fitted up expressly for her. Here she had every amus.e.m.e.nt she could enjoy, and she liked being here alone, and would frequently spend whole days there, and in the little garden adjoining, planting, and watching, and cultivating the flowers, of which, as we have said before, she was pa.s.sionately fond. A slight hint from Mrs. Courland that there was company in the house, was quite enough to keep her in her apartments the whole day; for she did not like mixing with strangers. She always seemed to have a dread, lest she should meet with someone she had seen before, and who she feared would take her away and beat her.
Mrs. Courland knew whom she meant, but to the others this was a mystery.
Mrs. Courland still dreaded the introduction of this poor girl to her husband, although she knew his kind heart would compa.s.sionate a poor helpless creature thrown upon her charity, as she had represented it, as much as the other members of the family had done. But she did not feel the same repugnance at deceiving them, as she did at deceiving her husband. She had already deceived him by keeping this secret from him.
And now, by the introduction of this poor girl into his house, the secret might be disclosed at some unlucky moment. She at first decided on introducing her at once on his return, and telling him the story she had framed; but her courage failed her, and she thought she would put it off until his return from London, where he was going the day after his arrival, to arrange his business with the princ.i.p.al shareholders of his ship. He was detained there some days, and had not returned when Mr.
Morley and Josiah arrived, although he was hourly expected. All was confusion throughout the house at the intelligence brought by Mr.
Morley, that his brother Frederick could nowhere be found. He was a general favourite there, and all the household turned out for this hopeless search, leaving poor Flora a wanderer through the house.
While the search was going on, Captain Courland returned from London, and, finding none of the servants in their accustomed places, he walked into the breakfast-room, where he saw a young lady standing at the window, with her back towards him as he entered, looking intently into the garden below. At first he thought it was his niece Julia, and he asked her what had occurred in the house to make such a scarcity of servants, and where her aunt was; but, to his great surprise, she took no notice of him,--so he went up close to her and tapped her on the shoulder, when she turned suddenly round, and gave a peculiar, disagreeable scream, and ran out of the room. He thought this very extraordinary. He could not imagine who the young lady could be, who seemed so much at home in his house, and who treated him with such rude contempt. He sought his wife for an explanation. On his mentioning the circ.u.mstance to her, she seemed taken quite by surprise, and hesitated, and looked confused while she told him her tale. He thought it very strange that she had not mentioned this circ.u.mstance to him in any of her letters, and he asked her rather harshly why she had not mentioned it when he was home for a day and a night, on his first arrival from sea. He spoke more harshly to her than he had ever done before, perhaps without intending to do so; but the consciousness that she had done wrong, and the fear lest her secret should yet be discovered by him, overcame her, so that, instead of explaining the reason, which she might easily have done, she burst into tears, which pained him, and made him think there was something more in this affair than he had yet heard; but, in the goodness of his heart and his devoted affection and love for his wife, he never suspected for a moment that she had done any wrong, or was concealing anything from him of a serious nature; while she, poor, timid, guilty creature, read his thoughts by her own, and fancied that her husband was looking into her heart, and reading there her guilty secret.
Had she possessed the moral courage to tell the truth in the beginning, when they were first married, all would have been well. But she had retained the secret in her own breast so long, and thereby deceived her husband, that the telling of it now would be like the confession of a twofold guilt. And if she had not the courage to tell her secret, when it was but a little secret after all, how could she tell it now, when years of deception had been added to it. And so, by this little accidental discovery of nothing, as it were, her courage deserted her, and the resolution she had formed of explaining the way in which the poor dumb girl became an adopted inmate of his house, was told in a way to create suspicion rather than allay it.
As his wife had adopted this poor creature, Captain Courland tacitly consented; for, although he felt that there was something that he could not understand in the matter, he had the heart of a true British sailor, and would not willingly wound the feelings of a woman if he could avoid it, especially in such a trifle as this; and more especially as the offender, if such she could be deemed, was his beautiful wife, to whom he was attached with the most ardent and devoted affection. After a time he became quite attached to the poor dumb girl: she amused him, and he would spend hours in her private room, while she taught him to talk with his fingers; and she was interested in her task, and would laugh such a hearty, ringing laugh when he made a mistake, that the jovial captain would throw himself back in his chair, and laugh, too, till his sides shook;--and then he could burst out with a nautical phrase in her society with impunity, which, when he attempted unwittingly in the presence of his wife or niece, caused a gentle reprimand, and he was obliged to "knock under," as he expressed it.