CHAPTER VI
A NOISE IN THE NIGHT
Both Deborah and Sylvia were astonished that Aaron should be soindifferent about their long concealment. They had expected and dreadeda storm, yet when the secret was told Mr. Norman appeared to take it ascalmly as though he had known about the matter from the first. Indeed,he seemed perfectly indifferent, and when he raised Sylvia and made hersit beside him on the sofa he reverted to the brooch.
"I shall certainly see Mr. Beecot," he said in a dreamy way. "CharingCross Hospital--of course. I'll go to-morrow. I had intended to seeabout selling the furniture then, but I'll wait till the next day. Iwant the brooch first--yes--yes," and he opened and shut his hand in astrangely restless manner.
The girl and the servant looked at one another in a perplexed way, forit was odd Norman should take the secret wooing of his daughter soquietly. He had never evinced much interest in Sylvia, who had been leftmainly to the rough attentions of Miss Junk, but sometimes he hadmentioned that Sylvia would be an heiress and fit to marry a poor peer.The love of Paul Beecot overthrew this scheme, if the man intended tocarry it out, yet he did not seem to mind. Sylvia, thinking entirely ofPaul, was glad, and the tense expression of her face relaxed; butDeborah sniffed, which was always an intimation that she intended tounburden her mind on an unpleasant subject.
"Well, sir," she said, folding her arms and scratching her elbow, "I dothink as offspring ain't lumps of dirt to be trod on in this way. Iarsk"--she flung out her hand towards Sylvia--"Is she your own or is shenot?"
"She is my daughter," said Aaron, mildly. "Why do you ask?"
"'Cause you don't take interest you should take in her marriage, whichis made in heaven if ever marriage was."
Norman raised his head like a war-horse at the sound of a trumpet-call."Who talks of marriage?" he asked sharply.
"Dear father," said Sylvia, gently, "did you not hear? I love Paul, andI want to marry him."
Aaron stared at her. "He is not a good match for you," was his reply.
"He is the man I love," cried Sylvia, tapping with her pretty foot.
"Love," said Norman, with a melancholy smile, "there is no such thing,child. Talk of hate--for that exists," he clenched his hands again,"hate that is as cruel as the grave."
"Well I'm sure, sir, and what 'ave hates to do with my beauty there? Asto love, exist it do, for Bart's bin talked into filling his 'eart withthe same, by me. I got it out of a _Family Herald_," explained Deborah,incoherently, "where gentry throw themselves on their knees to arsk'ands in marriage. Bart was down on his hunkers every night for twoweeks before he proposed proper, and I ses, ses I--"
"Will you hold your tongue?" interrupted Aaron, angrily; "you gabblegabble till you make my head ache. You confuse me."
"I want to clear your 'ead," retorted Miss Junk, "seeing you take nointerest in my pretty's livings."
Norman placed his fingers under Sylvia's chin, and tipped it up so thathe could gaze into her eyes. "Child, do you love him?" he asked gravely.
"Oh, father!" whispered Sylvia, and said no more. The expression of hereyes was enough for Aaron, and he turned away with a sigh.
"You know nothing about him," he said at length.
"Begging pardon, sir, for being a gabbler," said Deborah, witheringly,"but know what he is we do--a fine young gent with long descents andstone figgers in churches, as Bart knows. Beecot's his par's name, as isfighting with Mr. Paul by reason of contrariness and 'igh living, himbeing as stout as stout."
"Perhaps you will explain, Sylvia," said Aaron, turning impatiently fromthe handmaiden.
"I should have explained before," said the girl, quietly and verydistinctly. "I loved Paul from the moment I saw him enter the shop sixmonths ago. He came again and again, and we often talked. Then he toldme of his love, and I confessed mine. Deborah wanted to know who he was,and if he was a good man. From what I learned of Paul's people he seemedto be all that was good and generous and high-minded and loving. Deborahsent Bart one holiday to Wargrove in Essex, where Paul's parents live,and Bart found that Paul had left home because he wanted to be anauthor. Paul is very popular in Wargrove, and everyone speaks well ofhim. So Deborah thought we might be engaged, and--"
"And have you a word to say against it, sir?" demanded Deborah,bristling.
"No," said Aaron, after a pause, "but you should have told me."
"We should," admitted Sylvia, quickly, "but Paul and I feared lest youshould say 'No.'"
"My child," said the old man, gravely, "so long as you wed a kind andgood man I have nothing to say. Sylvia, I have worked hard these manyyears and have made much money, which, by will, I have left to you. WhenI die you will be rich. He is poor."
"Paul--yes, he is poor. But what of that?"
"Many fathers might think that an objection," went on Aaron withoutnoticing her remark. "But I do not. You shall marry Paul before I go toAmerica."
"Lor'!" cried Deborah, "whatever are you a-goin' there for, sir?"
"That's my business," said Aaron, dryly, "but I go as soon as I can. Ihave sold the books; and the furniture of these rooms shall be disposedof before the end of the week. My gems I take to Amsterdam for sale, andI go abroad next week. When I return in a fortnight you can marry Mr.Beecot. He is a good young man. I quite approve of him."
Deborah snorted. "Seems to me as though you was glad to get quit of mypretty," she murmured, but too low to be overheard.
"Oh, father," cried Sylvia, putting her arms round Norman's neck, "howgood you are! I _do_ love him so."
"I hope the love will continue," said her father, cynically, andremoving the girl's arms, to the secret indignation of Deborah. "I shallcall on Mr. Beecot to-morrow and speak to him myself about the matter.If we come to an arrangement, for I have a condition to make before Igive my entire consent, I shall allow you a certain sum to live on. ThenI shall go to America, and when I die you will inherit all mymoney--when I die," he added, casting the usual look over his shoulders."But I won't die for many a long day," he said, with a determined air."At least, I hope not."
"You are healthy enough, father."
"Yes! Yes--but healthy people die in queer ways."
Deborah intervened impatiently. "I'm glad you wish to make my lily-queenhappy, sir," said she, nodding, "but change your mind you may if Mr.Beecot don't fall in."
"Fall in?" queried Aaron.
"With this arrangements--what is they?"
Aaron looked undecided, then spoke impulsively, walking towards the dooras he did so. "Let Mr. Beecot give me that opal serpent," he said, "andhe shall have Sylvia and enough to live on."
"But, father, it is lost," cried Sylvia, in dismay.
She spoke to the empty air. Norman had hastily passed through the doorand was descending the stairs quicker than usual. Sylvia, in hereagerness to explain, would have followed, but Deborah drew her backwith rough gentleness. "Let him go, lily-queen," she said; "let sleepingdogs lie if you love me."
"Deborah, what do you mean?" asked Sylvia, breathlessly.
"I don't mean anything that have a meaning," said Miss Junk,enigmatically, "but your par's willing to sell you for that drattedbrooch, whatever he wants it for. And you to be put against a brooch myhoney-pot. I'm biling--yes, biling hard," and Deborah snorted in proofof the extremity of her rage.
"Never mind, Debby. Father consents that I shall marry Paul, and willgive us enough to live on. Then Paul will write great books, and hisfather will ask him home again. Oh--oh!" Sylvia danced round the roomgaily, "how happy I am."
"And happy you shall be if I die for it," shouted Deborah, screwing upher face, for she was not altogether satisfied, "though mysteries Idon't hold with, are about. America--what's he going to America for? andwith that brooch, and him locking us up every night to sleep in cellars.Police-courts and Old Baileys," said Miss Junk, frowning. "I don't likeit, Sunbeam, and when you're married to Mr. Beecot I'll be that happy asnever was."
Sylvia opened her grey eyes in wide surprise and a little alarm.
"Oh,Debby, you don't think there's anything wrong with father?"
Miss Junk privately thought there was a good deal wrong, but she foldedSylvia in her stout arms and dismissed the question with a snort. "No,lovey, my own, there ain't. It's just my silly way of going on. Orangebuds and brides the sun shines on, is your fortunes, Miss Sylvia, thoughhow I'm going to call you Mrs. Beecot beats me," and Deborah rubbed hernose.
"I shall always be Sylvia to you."
"Bless you, lady-bird, but don't ask me to live with Mr. Beecot'sfrantic par, else there'll be scratchings if he don't do proper what heshould do and don't. So there." Deborah swung her arms like a windmill."My mind's easy and dinner's waiting, for, love or no love, eat youmust, to keep your insides' clockwork."
When Bart heard the joyful news he was glad, but expressed regret thatNorman should go to America. He did not wish to lose his situation, andnever thought the old man would take him to the States also. Deborahvowed that if Aaron did want to transport Bart--so she put it--she wouldobject. Then she unfolded a scheme by which, with Bart's savings and herown, they could start a laundry. "And I knows a drying ground," saidDeborah, while talking at supper to her proposed husband, "as is lovelyand cheap. One of them suburbs on the line to Essex, where my prettywill live when her husband's frantic par makes it up. Jubileetown's theplace, and Victoria Avenue the street. The sweetest cottage at twentypun' a year as I ever set eyes on. And m'sister as is married to abricklayer is near to help with the family."
"The family?" echoed Bart, looking scared.
"In course--they will come, though it's early to be thinking of namesfor 'em. I'll do the washing, Bart, and you'll take round the cart, sodon't you think things 'ull be otherwise."
"I don't want 'em to," said Bart, affectionately. "I always loved you,Debby darling."
"Ah," said Miss Junk, luxuriously, "I've taught you to, in quite agenteel way. What a scrubby little brat you were, Bart!"
"Yuss," said Mr. Tawsey, eating rapidly. "I saw myself to-day."
"In a looking-glarse?"
"Lor', Debby--no. But there wos a brat all rags and dirty face and sauceas I was when you saw me fust. He come into the shop as bold as brassand arsked fur a book. I ses, 'What do you want with a book?' and heses, looking at the shelves so empty, 'I sees your sellin' off,' he ses,so I jumped up to clip him over the 'ead, when he cut. Tray's his name,Debby, and he's the kid as talked to that cold gent Mr. Beecot broughtalong with him when he got smashed."
"Tray--that's a dog's name," said Deborah, "old dog Tray, and quite goodenough for guttersnipes. As to Mr. Hay, don't arsk me to say he's good,for that he ain't. What's he want talking with gutter Trays?"
"And what do gutter Trays want with books?" asked Bart, "though to besure 'twas impertinence maybe."
Deborah nodded. "That it was, and what you'd have done when you was ascrubby thing. Don't bolt your food, but make every bit 'elp you to'ealth and long living. You won't 'ave gormandising when we've got thelaundry, I can tell you."
Next day Aaron went off in the afternoon to Charing Cross Hospital,after holding a conversation with a broker who had agreed to buy thederelict furniture. The shop, being empty, was supposed to be closed,but from force of habit Bart took down the shutters and lurkeddisconsolately behind the bare counter. Several old customers who hadnot heard of the sale entered, and were disappointed when they learnedthat Aaron was leaving. Their lamentations made Bart quite low-spirited.However, he was polite to all, but his manners broke down when a Hindooentered to sell boot-laces. "I ain't got nothing to sell, and don't wantto buy nohow," said Bart, violently.
The man did not move, but stood impassively in the doorway like a bronzestatue. He wore a dirty red turban carelessly wound round his smallhead, an unclean blouse which had once been white, circled by a yellowhandkerchief of some coarse stuff, dark blue trousers and slippers withcurled-up toes on naked feet. His eyes were black and sparkling and hehad a well-trimmed moustache which contrasted oddly with his shabbyattire. "Hokar is poor: Hokar need money," he whined in a monotone, butwith his eyes glancing restlessly round the shop. "Give Hokar--give,"and he held out the laces.
"Don't want any, I tell you," shouted Bart, tartly. "I'll call a peelerif you don't git."
"Ho! ho! who stole the donkey?" cried a shrill voice at the door, andfrom behind the hawker was poked a touzelled curly head, and a grinningface which sadly needed washing. "You leave this cove alone, won't y?He's a pal o' mine. D'y see?"
"You git along with your pal then," cried Bart, indignantly. "If hedon't understand King's English, you do, Tray."
Tray darted into the middle of the shop and made a face at the indignantshopman by putting his fingers in his mouth to widen it, and pullingdown his eyes. Hokar never smiled, but showed no disposition to move.Bart, angered at this blocking up the doorway, and by Tray's war dance,jumped the counter. He aimed a blow at the guttersnipe's head, butmissed it and fell full length. The next moment Tray was dancing on hisbody with his tongue out derisively. Then Hokar gave a weird smile."Kalee!" he said to himself. "Kalee!"
How the scene would have ended it is impossible to say, but while Bartstrove to rise and overturn Tray, Aaron walked in past the Indian."What's this?" he asked sharply. Tray stopped his dancing on Bart'sprostrate body and gave a shrill whistle by placing two dirty fingers inhis mouth. Then he darted between Norman's legs and made off. Hokarstood staring at the bookseller, and after a pause pointed with hisfinger. "One--eye," he said calmly, "no good!"
Aaron was about to inquire what he meant by this insult, when the Indianwalked to the counter and placed something thereon, after which he movedaway, and his voice was heard dying away down the street. "Hokar ispoor--Hokar need money. Hokar, Christian."
"What's this?" demanded Norman, again assisting Bart roughly to hisfeet.
"Blest if I know," replied Tawsey, staring; "they're mad, I think," andhe related the incoming of the Indian and the street arab. "As for thatTray," said he, growling, "I'll punch his blooming 'ead when I meets himagin, dancing on me--yah. Allays meddlin' that brat, jus' as he woswhen Mr. Beecot was smashed."
"You saw that accident?" asked his master, fixing his one eye on him.
"Yuss," said Bart, slowly, "I did, but Deborah she told me to saynothink. Mr. Beecot was smashed, and his friend, the cold eye-glarsedgent, pulled him from under the wheels of that there machine with Trayto help him, and between 'em they carried him to the pavement."
"Humph!" said Aaron, resting his chin on his hand and speaking more tohimself than to his assistant, "so Tray was on the spot. Humph!" Bart,having brushed himself, moved behind the counter and took up what Hokarhad left. "Why, it's brown sugar!" he exclaimed, touching it with histongue, "coarse brown sugar--a handful." He stretched out his palmheaped with the sugar to his master. "What do that furrein pusson meanby leaving dirt about?"
"I don't know, nor do I care," snapped Aaron, who appeared to be out oftemper. "Throw it away!" which Bart did, after grumbling again at theimpudence of the street hawker.
Norman did not go upstairs, but descended to the cellar, where he busiedhimself in looking over the contents of the three safes. In these, weremany small boxes filled with gems of all kind, cut and uncut: alsoarticles of jewellery consisting of necklaces, bracelets, stars for thehair, brooches, and tiaras. The jewels glittered in the flaringgaslight, and Aaron fondled them as though they were living things. "Youbeauties," he whispered to himself, with his one eye gloating over hishoard. "I'll sell you, though it goes to my heart to part with lovelythings. But I must--I must--and then I'll go--not to America--oh, dearno! but to the South Seas. They won't find me there--no--no! I'll berich, and happy, and free. Sylvia can marry and live happy. But theserpent," he said in a harsh tone, "oh, the opal serpent! Thepawnbroker's shop. Stowley--yes--I know it. I know it. Stowley. Theywant it back; but they sha'n't. I'll buy it from Beecot by giving himSylvia. It's lost--lost." He looked over his shoulder as he spoke in aterrified whisper. "Perhaps they have it, and then--then," he leaped
upand flung the armful of baubles he held on to the deal table, "andthen--I must get away--away."
He pulled out three or four coarse sacks of a small size and filledthese with the jewellery. Then he tied a cord round the neck of eachsack and sealed it. Afterwards, with a sigh, he closed the safe andturned down the gas. He did not leave by the trap, which led through theshop, but opened and locked the back door of the cellar, ascended thesteps and went out into the street through the side passage. "If theycome," he thought as he walked into the gathering night, "they won'tfind these. No! no!" and he hugged the bags closely.
Sylvia upstairs waited anxiously for the return of her father from thehospital, as she both wanted to hear how her lover was progressing andwhat he said about the permission to marry being given. But Aaron didnot come to supper, as was his usual custom. Bart said, when inquirieswere made, that the master had gone down into the cellar and wasprobably there. Meanwhile, according to his usual habit, he put up theshutters and departed. Sylvia and Deborah ate their frugal meal andretired to bed, the girl much disturbed at the absence of her father.Outside, in the street, the passers-by diminished in number, and as thenight grew darker and the lamps were lighted hardly a person remained inGwynne Street. It was not a fashionable thoroughfare, and afternightfall few people came that way. By eleven o'clock there was not asoul about. Even the one policeman who usually perambulated the streetwas conspicuous by his absence.
Sylvia, in her bed, had fallen into a troubled sleep, and was dreamingof Paul, but not happily. She seemed to see him in trouble. Then shewoke suddenly, with all her senses alert, and sat up. Faintly she hearda wild cry, and then came the twelve strokes of the church bellsannouncing midnight. Breathlessly she waited, but the cry was notrepeated. In the darkness she sat up listening until the quarter chimed.Then the measured footsteps of a policeman were heard passing down thestreet and dying away. Sylvia was terrified. Why, she hardly knew: butshe sprang from her bed and hurried into Deborah's room. "Wake up," shesaid, "there's something wrong."
Deborah was awake in a moment and lighted the lamp. On hearing Sylvia'sstory she went down the stairs followed by the girl. The door at thebottom, strange to say, was not locked. Deborah opened this, and peeringinto the shop gave a cry of alarm and horror.
Lying on the floor was Aaron, bound hand and foot.