CHAPTER XIV.
IN WHICH BECKY COMMENCES A LETTER TO A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY.
On the following evening, Becky, the maid-of-all-work, having receiveda reluctant permission from her mistress to go out until ten o'clock,wrote and posted the following letter:--
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MY DARLING FRED,--I will now give you an account of all that has passedsince I saw your dear face. I could not write to you before to-day, forthe reason that I did not get an address until this morning, when Ireceived your dear letter. It was short, but I was overjoyed when theman at the post office gave it to me. He looked at me suspiciously,having a doubt whether I was the person I represented myself to be. Idare say this remark makes you wonder a little; but you would wondermore if you had seen me when I asked for your letter. Now, be patient,and you will soon learn why.
Patient! Have you not been patient? What other man in the world wouldhave borne what you have borne with such fortitude and courage?None--no, not one! But it is for my sake as well as your own, that,instead of taking your revenge upon the wretches who have persecutedyou, you schooled yourself to the endurance of their cruelty, in thehope that the day would come when they would be compelled to set youfree. And it came--and you are free! O, my dear! I pray day and nightthat all will come right in the end.
It seems as if this were going to be a long, long letter, but I cannothelp it. I must wander on in my own way, and I have got more than threehours, all to myself.
What have I been doing since you went away? That is what you are askingyourself? Prepare for wonders. I would give you ten thousand guesses,and you would not come near the truth.
You shall be told without guessing. I found it very dull in the lodgingyou took for me; the days dragged on _so_ slowly, and I thought thenights would never end.
What did I want? Something to do.
Now, with this in my mind, an inspiration fell upon me one night, andthe moment it did so I could not help thinking myself a selfish, idlelittle woman for not having thought of it before. That sounds ratherconfused, but you will understand it.
So the very next morning I set about it. How, do you think? And aboutwhat?
I went to a poor little shop in a lane in Chelsea, where they sellsecond-hand clothes, and I bought two common frocks, and some commonpetticoats, and everything else--boots, cloak, hat--such a hat!--and abunch of false hair. The clothes were very cheap. I do not know how thewoman could have sold them for the money except that the poor creatureswho sold them to _her_ must have been so near starvation's door thatthey were compelled to part with them at any price.
I took them home to my lodgings, and dressed myself in them, put onmy false hair, and smudged my face. I looked exactly like the part Iintended to play--a servant-of-all-work, ready to go on the stage.
You are burning to know in what theatre I intended to play the part. Iwill tell you. Don't start. Great Porter Square.
Of all places in the world (I hear you say) the one place I should wishmy little woman to avoid. Your little woman thought differently--thinksdifferently.
This is what I said to myself: Here is my darling working day and nightto get at the heart of a great mystery in which he is involved. Heendures dreadful hardships, suffers imprisonment and cruel indignities,and travels hundreds and hundreds of miles, in his endeavour to unravelthe mystery which affects his peace and mine--his future and mine--hishonour and mine! And here am I, with nothing to do, living close to thevery spot where the fearful crime was committed, sitting down in wickedidleness, without making the slightest attempt to assist the man forwhom I would cheerfully die, but for whom I would much more cheerfullylive. Why should I not go and live in Great Porter Square, assuming sucha disguise as would enable me to hear everything that was going on--allthe tittle-tattle--all the thousand little things, and words, andcircumstances which have never been brought to light--and which mightlead to a clue which would help the man I would much more cheerfullylive for than die for?
There was no impropriety in what I determined to do, and in what I havedone. I must tell you that there is in me a more determined, earnestspirit than you ever gave me credit for. Now that I am actively engagedin this adventure, I know that I am brave and strong and cunning, and alittle bird whispers to me that I shall discover something--God aloneknows what--which will be of importance to you.
Do you think I shall be debarred by fear of ghosts? I am not frightenedof ghosts.
Now you know how it is I arrived at my resolution. Do not blame me forit, and do not write to me to give it up. I do not think I could, evenif you commanded me.
I did not make a move until night came. Fortunately, it was a darknight. I watched my opportunity, and when nobody was on the stairs, Iglided down in my disguise, slipped open the street door, and vanishedfrom the neighbourhood.
I had never been in Great Porter Square, but it seemed to me as if I_must_ know where it was, and when I thought I was near the Square Iwent into a greengrocer's shop and inquired. It was quite close, thewoman said, just round the corner to the left.
The Square, my dear, as you know, is a very dismal-looking place. Thereare very few gas lamps in it, and the inclosure in the centre, whichthey call a garden, containing a few melancholy trees and shrubs, doesnot add to its attractiveness. When I came to 119, I crossed the roadand looked up at the windows. They were quite dark, and there was a billin one, "To Let." It had a very gloomy appearance, but the other houseswere little better off in that respect. There was not one which didnot seem to indicate that some person was lying dead in it, and thata funeral was going to take place to-morrow.
There were a great many rooms to let in Great Porter Square, especiallyin the houses near to No. 119. No. 118 appeared to be almost quiteempty, for, except in a room at the very top of the house, and in thebasement, there was not a light to be seen. I did not wonder at it.
Well, my dear, my walk round the Square did not help me much, so whatdid I do but walk back to the greengrocer's shop. You know the sort ofshop. The people sell coals, wood, gingerbeer, and lemonade, the daybefore yesterday's bunches of flowers, and the day before yesterday'scabbages and vegetables.
"Didn't you find it?" asked the woman.
"O, yes," I replied, "but I didn't find what I was looking for. I heardthat a servant was wanted in one of the houses, and I have forgotten thenumber."
"There's a house in the Square," said the woman, "where they want aservant bad, but they can't get one to stop."
"What's the number?" I asked.
"No. 118," the woman answered. "Next to--but perhaps you don't know."
"Don't know what?" I inquired.
"That it's next door to the house where a murder was committed," shesaid.
"What is that to me?" I said. "_I_ didn't do it."
The woman looked at me admiringly. "Well," she said, "you've got anerve! And you don't look it, neither. You look delicate."
"Don't you go by looks," I said, "I'm stronger than you think."
Then I thanked her, and went to No. 118 Great Porter Square, and knockedat the door.