_ "There, ma'am!" said Trottle, folding up the manuscript from which
he had been reading, and setting it down with a smart tap of triumph
on the table. "May I venture to ask what you think of that plain
statement, as a guess on my part (and not on Mr. Jarber's) at the
riddle of the empty House?"
For a minute or two I was unable to say a word. When I recovered a
little, my first question referred to the poor forlorn little boy.
"To-day is Monday the twentieth," I said. "Surely you have not let
a whole week go by without trying to find out something more?"
"Except at bed-time, and meals, ma'am," answered Trottle, "I have
not let an hour go by. Please to understand that I have only come
to an end of what I have written, and not to an end of what I have
done. I wrote down those first particulars, ma'am, because they are
of great importance, and also because I was determined to come
forward with my written documents, seeing that Mr. Jarber chose to
come forward, in the first instance, with his. I am now ready to go
on with the second part of my story as shortly and plainly as
possible, by word of mouth. The first thing I must clear up, if you
please, is the matter of Mr. Forley's family affairs. I have heard
you speak of them, ma'am, at various times; and I have understood
that Mr. Forley had two children only by his deceased wife, both
daughters. The eldest daughter married, to her father's entire
satisfaction, one Mr. Bayne, a rich man, holding a high government
situation in Canada. She is now living there with her husband, and
her only child, a little girl of eight or nine years old. Right so
far, I think, ma'am?"
"Quite right," I said.
"The second daughter," Trottle went on, "and Mr. Forley's favourite,
set her father's wishes and the opinions of the world at flat
defiance, by running away with a man of low origin--a mate of a
merchant-vessel, named Kirkland. Mr. Forley not only never forgave
that marriage, but vowed that he would visit the scandal of it
heavily in the future on husband and wife. Both escaped his
vengeance, whatever he meant it to be. The husband was drowned on
his first voyage after his marriage, and the wife died in child-bed.
Right again, I believe, ma'am?"
"Again quite right."
"Having got the family matter all right, we will now go back, ma'am,
to me and my doings. Last Monday, I asked you for leave of absence
for two days; I employed the time in clearing up the matter of
Benjamin's face. Last Saturday I was out of the way when you wanted
me. I played truant, ma'am, on that occasion, in company with a
friend of mine, who is managing clerk in a lawyer's office; and we
both spent the morning at Doctors' Commons, over the last will and
testament of Mr. Forley's father. Leaving the will-business for a
moment, please to follow me first, if you have no objection, into
the ugly subject of Benjamin's face. About six or seven years ago
(thanks to your kindness) I had a week's holiday with some friends
of mine who live in the town of Pendlebury. One of those friends
(the only one now left in the place) kept a chemist's shop, and in
that shop I was made acquainted with one of the two doctors in the
town, named Barsham. This Barsham was a first-rate surgeon, and
might have got to the top of his profession, if he had not been a
first-rate blackguard. As it was, he both drank and gambled; nobody
would have anything to do with him in Pendlebury; and, at the time
when I was made known to him in the chemist's shop, the other
doctor, Mr. Dix, who was not to be compared with him for surgical
skill, but who was a respectable man, had got all the practice; and
Barsham and his old mother were living together in such a condition
of utter poverty, that it was a marvel to everybody how they kept
out of the parish workhouse."
"Benjamin and Benjamin's mother!"
"Exactly, ma'am. Last Thursday morning (thanks to your kindness,
again) I went to Pendlebury to my friend the chemist, to ask a few
questions about Barsham and his mother. I was told that they had
both left the town about five years since. When I inquired into the
circumstances, some strange particulars came out in the course of
the chemist's answer. You know I have no doubt, ma'am, that poor
Mrs. Kirkland was confined while her husband was at sea, in lodgings
at a village called Flatfield, and that she died and was buried
there. But what you may not know is, that Flatfield is only three
miles from Pendlebury; that the doctor who attended on Mrs. Kirkland
was Barsham; that the nurse who took care of her was Barsham's
mother; and that the person who called them both in, was Mr. Forley.
Whether his daughter wrote to him, or whether he heard of it in some
other way, I don't know; but he was with her (though he had sworn
never to see her again when she married) a month or more before her
confinement, and was backwards and forwards a good deal between
Flatfield and Pendlebury. How he managed matters with the Barshams
cannot at present be discovered; but it is a fact that he contrived
to keep the drunken doctor sober, to everybody's amazement. It is a
fact that Barsham went to the poor woman with all his wits about
him. It is a fact that he and his mother came back from Flatfield
after Mrs. Kirkland's death, packed up what few things they had, and
left the town mysteriously by night. And, lastly, it is also a fact
that the other doctor, Mr. Dix, was not called in to help, till a
week after the birth AND BURIAL of the child, when the mother was
sinking from exhaustion--exhaustion (to give the vagabond, Barsham,
his due) not produced, in Mr. Dix's opinion, by improper medical
treatment, but by the bodily weakness of the poor woman herself--"
"Burial of the child?" I interrupted, trembling all over. "Trottle!
you spoke that word 'burial' in a very strange way--you are fixing
your eyes on me now with a very strange look--"
Trottle leaned over close to me, and pointed through the window to
the empty house.
"The child's death is registered, at Pendlebury," he said, "on
Barsham's certificate, under the head of Male Infant, Still-Born.
The child's coffin lies in the mother's grave, in Flatfield
churchyard. The child himself--as surely as I live and breathe, is
living and breathing now--a castaway and a prisoner in that
villainous house!"
I sank back in my chair.
"It's guess-work, so far, but it is borne in on my mind, for all
that, as truth. Rouse yourself, ma'am, and think a little. The
last I hear of Barsham, he is attending Mr. Forley's disobedient
daughter. The next I see of Barsham, he is in Mr. Forley's house,
trusted with a secret. He and his mother leave Pendlebury suddenly
and suspiciously five years back; and he and his mother have got a
child of five years old, hidden away in the house. Wait! please to
wait--I have not done yet. The will left by Mr. Forley's father,
strengthens the suspicion. The friend I took with me to Doctors'
Commons, made himself master of the contents of that will; and when
he had done so, I put these two questions to him. 'Can Mr. Forley
leave his money at his own discretion to anybody he pleases?' 'No,'
my friend says, 'his father has left him with only a life interest
in it.' 'Suppose one of Mr. Forley's married daughters has a girl,
and the other a boy, how would the money go?' 'It would all go,' my
friend says, 'to the boy, and it would be charged with the payment
of a certain annual income to his female cousin. After her death,
it would go back to the male descendant, and to his heirs.'
Consider that, ma'am! The child of the daughter whom Mr. Forley
hates, whose husband has been snatched away from his vengeance by
death, takes his whole property in defiance of him; and the child of
the daughter whom he loves, is left a pensioner on her low-born boy-
cousin for life! There was good--too good reason--why that child of
Mrs. Kirkland's should be registered stillborn. And if, as I
believe, the register is founded on a false certificate, there is
better, still better reason, why the existence of the child should
be hidden, and all trace of his parentage blotted out, in the garret
of that empty house."
He stopped, and pointed for the second time to the dim, dust-covered
garret-windows opposite. As he did so, I was startled--a very
slight matter sufficed to frighten me now--by a knock at the door of
the room in which we were sitting.
My maid came in, with a letter in her hand. I took it from her.
The mourning card, which was all the envelope enclosed, dropped from
my hands.
George Forley was no more. He had departed this life three days
since, on the evening of Friday.
"Did our last chance of discovering the truth," I asked, "rest with
HIM? Has it died with HIS death?"
"Courage, ma'am! I think not. Our chance rests on our power to
make Barsham and his mother confess; and Mr. Forley's death, by
leaving them helpless, seems to put that power into our hands. With
your permission, I will not wait till dusk to-day, as I at first
intended, but will make sure of those two people at once. With a
policeman in plain clothes to watch the house, in case they try to
leave it; with this card to vouch for the fact of Mr. Forley's
death; and with a bold acknowledgment on my part of having got
possession of their secret, and of being ready to use it against
them in case of need, I think there is little doubt of bringing
Barsham and his mother to terms. In case I find it impossible to
get back here before dusk, please to sit near the window, ma'am, and
watch the house, a little before they light the street-lamps. If
you see the front-door open and close again, will you be good enough
to put on your bonnet, and come across to me immediately? Mr.
Forley's death may, or may not, prevent his messenger from coming as
arranged. But, if the person does come, it is of importance that
you, as a relative of Mr. Forley's should be present to see him, and
to have that proper influence over him which I cannot pretend to
exercise."
The only words I could say to Trottle as he opened the door and left
me, were words charging him to take care that no harm happened to
the poor forlorn little boy.
Left alone, I drew my chair to the window; and looked out with a
beating heart at the guilty house. I waited and waited through what
appeared to me to be an endless time, until I heard the wheels of a
cab stop at the end of the street. I looked in that direction, and
saw Trottle get out of the cab alone, walk up to the house, and
knock at the door. He was let in by Barsham's mother. A minute or
two later, a decently-dressed man sauntered past the house, looked
up at it for a moment, and sauntered on to the corner of the street
close by. Here he leant against the post, and lighted a cigar, and
stopped there smoking in an idle way, but keeping his face always
turned in the direction of the house-door.
I waited and waited still. I waited and waited, with my eyes
riveted to the door of the house. At last I thought I saw it open
in the dusk, and then felt sure I heard it shut again softly.
Though I tried hard to compose myself, I trembled so that I was
obliged to call for Peggy to help me on with my bonnet and cloak,
and was forced to take her arm to lean on, in crossing the street.
Trottle opened the door to us, before we could knock. Peggy went
back, and I went in. He had a lighted candle in his hand.
"It has happened, ma'am, as I thought it would," he whispered,
leading me into the bare, comfortless, empty parlour. "Barsham and
his mother have consulted their own interests, and have come to
terms. My guess-work is guess-work no longer. It is now what I
felt it was--Truth!"
Something strange to me--something which women who are mothers must
often know--trembled suddenly in my heart, and brought the warm
tears of my youthful days thronging back into my eyes. I took my
faithful old servant by the hand, and asked him to let me see Mrs.
Kirkland's child, for his mother's sake.
"If you desire it, ma'am," said Trottle, with a gentleness of manner
that I had never noticed in him before. "But pray don't think me
wanting in duty and right feeling, if I beg you to try and wait a
little. You are agitated already, and a first meeting with the
child will not help to make you so calm, as you would wish to be, if
Mr. Forley's messenger comes. The little boy is safe up-stairs.
Pray think first of trying to compose yourself for a meeting with a
stranger; and believe me you shall not leave the house afterwards
without the child."
I felt that Trottle was right, and sat down as patiently as I could
in a chair he had thoughtfully placed ready for me. I was so
horrified at the discovery of my own relation's wickedness that when
Trottle proposed to make me acquainted with the confession wrung
from Barsham and his mother, I begged him to spare me all details,
and only to tell me what was necessary about George Forley.
"All that can be said for Mr. Forley, ma'am, is, that he was just
scrupulous enough to hide the child's existence and blot out its
parentage here, instead of consenting, at the first, to its death,
or afterwards, when the boy grew up, to turning him adrift,
absolutely helpless in the world. The fraud has been managed,
ma'am, with the cunning of Satan himself. Mr. Forley had the hold
over the Barshams, that they had helped him in his villany, and that
they were dependent on him for the bread they eat. He brought them
up to London to keep them securely under his own eye. He put them
into this empty house (taking it out of the agent's hands
previously, on pretence that he meant to manage the letting of it
himself); and by keeping the house empty, made it the surest of all
hiding places for the child. Here, Mr. Forley could come, whenever
he pleased, to see that the poor lonely child was not absolutely
starved; sure that his visits would only appear like looking after
his own property. Here the child was to have been trained to
believe himself Barsham's child, till he should be old enough to be
provided for in some situation, as low and as poor as Mr. Forley's
uneasy conscience would let him pick out. He may have thought of
atonement on his death-bed; but not before--I am only too certain of
it--not before!"
A low, double knock startled us.
"The messenger!" said Trottle, under his breath. He went out
instantly to answer the knock; and returned, leading in a
respectable-looking elderly man, dressed like Trottle, all in black,
with a white cravat, but otherwise not at all resembling him.
"I am afraid I have made some mistake," said the stranger.
Trottle, considerately taking the office of explanation into his own
hands, assured the gentleman that there was no mistake; mentioned to
him who I was; and asked him if he had not come on business
connected with the late Mr. Forley. Looking greatly astonished, the
gentleman answered, "Yes." There was an awkward moment of silence,
after that. The stranger seemed to be not only startled and amazed,
but rather distrustful and fearful of committing himself as well.
Noticing this, I thought it best to request Trottle to put an end to
further embarrassment, by stating all particulars truthfully, as he
had stated them to me; and I begged the gentleman to listen
patiently for the late Mr. Forley's sake. He bowed to me very
respectfully, and said he was prepared to listen with the greatest
interest.
It was evident to me--and, I could see, to Trottle also--that we
were not dealing, to say the least, with a dishonest man.
"Before I offer any opinion on what I have heard," he said,
earnestly and anxiously, after Trottle had done, "I must be allowed,
in justice to myself, to explain my own apparent connection with
this very strange and very shocking business. I was the
confidential legal adviser of the late Mr. Forley, and I am left his
executor. Rather more than a fortnight back, when Mr. Forley was
confined to his room by illness, he sent for me, and charged me to
call and pay a certain sum of money here, to a man and woman whom I
should find taking charge of the house. He said he had reasons for
wishing the affair to be kept a secret. He begged me so to arrange
my engagements that I could call at this place either on Monday
last, or to-day, at dusk; and he mentioned that he would write to
warn the people of my coming, without mentioning my name (Dalcott is
my name), as he did not wish to expose me to any future
importunities on the part of the man and woman. I need hardly tell
you that this commission struck me as being a strange one; but, in
my position with Mr. Forley, I had no resource but to accept it
without asking questions, or to break off my long and friendly
connection with my client. I chose the first alternative. Business
prevented me from doing my errand on Monday last--and if I am here
to-day, notwithstanding Mr. Forley's unexpected death, it is
emphatically because I understood nothing of the matter, on knocking
at this door; and therefore felt myself bound, as executor, to clear
it up. That, on my word of honour, is the whole truth, so far as I
am personally concerned."
"I feel quite sure of it, sir," I answered.
"You mentioned Mr. Forley's death, just now, as unexpected. May I
inquire if you were present, and if he has left any last
instructions?"
"Three hours before Mr. Forley's death," said Mr. Dalcott, "his
medical attendant left him apparently in a fair way of recovery.
The change for the worse took place so suddenly, and was accompanied
by such severe suffering, to prevent him from communicating his last
wishes to any one. When I reached his house, he was insensible. I
have since examined his papers. Not one of them refers to the
present time or to the serious matter which now occupies us. In the
absence of instructions I must act cautiously on what you have told
me; but I will be rigidly fair and just at the same time. The first
thing to be done," he continued, addressing himself to Trottle, "is
to hear what the man and woman, down-stairs, have to say. If you
can supply me with writing-materials, I will take their declarations
separately on the spot, in your presence, and in the presence of the
policeman who is watching the house. To-morrow I will send copies
of those declarations, accompanied by a full statement of the case,
to Mr. and Mrs. Bayne in Canada (both of whom know me well as the
late Mr. Forley's legal adviser); and I will suspend all
proceedings, on my part, until I hear from them, or from their
solicitor in London. In the present posture of affairs this is all
I can safely do."
We could do no less than agree with him, and thank him for his frank
and honest manner of meeting us. It was arranged that I should send
over the writing-materials from my lodgings; and, to my unutterable
joy and relief, it was also readily acknowledged that the poor
little orphan boy could find no fitter refuge than my old arms were
longing to offer him, and no safer protection for the night than my
roof could give. Trottle hastened away up-stairs, as actively as if
he had been a young man, to fetch the child down.
And he brought him down to me without another moment of delay, and I
went on my knees before the poor little Mite, and embraced him, and
asked him if he would go with me to where I lived? He held me away
for a moment, and his wan, shrewd little eyes looked sharp at me.
Then he clung close to me all at once, and said:
"I'm a-going along with you, I am--and so I tell you!"
For inspiring the poor neglected child with this trust in my old
self, I thanked Heaven, then, with all my heart and soul, and I
thank it now!
I bundled the poor darling up in my own cloak, and I carried him in
my own arms across the road. Peggy was lost in speechless amazement
to behold me trudging out of breath up-stairs, with a strange pair
of poor little legs under my arm; but, she began to cry over the
child the moment she saw him, like a sensible woman as she always
was, and she still cried her eyes out over him in a comfortable
manner, when he at last lay fast asleep, tucked up by my hands in
Trottle's bed.
"And Trottle, bless you, my dear man," said I, kissing his hand, as
he looked on: "the forlorn baby came to this refuge through you,
and he will help you on your way to Heaven."
Trottle answered that I was his dear mistress, and immediately went
and put his head out at an open window on the landing, and looked
into the back street for a quarter of an hour.
That very night, as I sat thinking of the poor child, and of another
poor child who is never to be thought about enough at Christmas-
time, the idea came into my mind which I have lived to execute, and
in the realisation of which I am the happiest of women this day.
"The executor will sell that House, Trottle?" said I.
"Not a doubt of it, ma'am, if he can find a purchaser."
"I'll buy it."
I have often seen Trottle pleased; but, I never saw him so perfectly
enchanted as he was when I confided to him, which I did, then and
there, the purpose that I had in view.
To make short of a long story--and what story would not be long,
coming from the lips of an old woman like me, unless it was made
short by main force!--I bought the House. Mrs. Bayne had her
father's blood in her; she evaded the opportunity of forgiving and
generous reparation that was offered her, and disowned the child;
but, I was prepared for that, and loved him all the more for having
no one in the world to look to, but me.
I am getting into a flurry by being over-pleased, and I dare say I
am as incoherent as need be. I bought the House, and I altered it
from the basement to the roof, and I turned it into a Hospital for
Sick Children.
Never mind by what degrees my little adopted boy came to the
knowledge of all the sights and sounds in the streets, so familiar
to other children and so strange to him; never mind by what degrees
he came to be pretty, and childish, and winning, and companionable,
and to have pictures and toys about him, and suitable playmates. As
I write, I look across the road to my Hospital, and there is the
darling (who has gone over to play) nodding at me out of one of the
once lonely windows, with his dear chubby face backed up by
Trottle's waistcoat as he lifts my pet for "Grandma" to see.
Many an Eye I see in that House now, but it is never in solitude,
never in neglect. Many an Eye I see in that House now, that is more
and more radiant every day with the light of returning health. As
my precious darling has changed beyond description for the brighter
and the better, so do the not less precious darlings of poor women
change in that House every day in the year. For which I humbly
thank that Gracious Being whom the restorer of the Widow's son and
of the Ruler's daughter, instructed all mankind to call their
Father.
THE END.
A House to Let, Charles Dickens and Others. _