A Little World Part 38

It was true, for Mrs Jared's trials were any thing but light, and she hid many a tear in her turn from Jared. But for all that, that night, after hours had pa.s.sed, she had another to spare, as she thought of the dead child, and felt for it more than ever a strange yearning; while the tear that made wet her cheek was as much for it as for the sorrows of poor Tim Ruggles.

Tears--tears! there were many shed that night; for in her own little room Patty too lay sleepless, thinking of Janet and her trouble--of the missing man, and of poor Pine as well; but somehow, in spite of her sadness, her thoughts would veer round to him who had first made her heart to beat, and that was Harry Clayton.

Volume 2, Chapter XX.

A BROKEN REED.

Harry Clayton walked hastily back towards Lionel's chambers, his mind confused by what he had seen and heard. He was half pained, half pleased; at one moment he felt elate, and his heart swelled joyfully.

He stopped once; should he go to Duplex Street? Then he would think of conflicting circ.u.mstances, and depression would ensue. Thoughts that he had believed to be crushed out were again a.s.serting themselves; and so pre-occupied was he, that he did not see the peering curious face of D.

Wragg, as it pa.s.sed within a yard of his own, watchful as that of a terrier after a rat.

So conflicting were Harry Clayton's thoughts, that for a while, though not driven out, the recollection of the mission upon which he was sent was certainly dimmed. He had been so surprised--matters had turned out so differently to what he had antic.i.p.ated; and he was so pleased to.

And that he had been in the wrong that for a time he strode on pondering upon the pleasant vision he had left behind, till, rapidly approaching Regent Street, the thoughts of the missing man came back with full force, and with them a feeling of sorrow and remorse for what he was ready now to call his forgetfulness.

Rousing himself then to a sense of duty, he hurried up the stairs, but not so quickly that he had not time to think that there was not the slightest necessity for the people at D. Wragg's to be put to further trouble or annoyance. If ill had befallen Lionel on his way to or from Decadia, they were not to blame; and it was his duty, he told himself, to protect them. And after all, it seemed, as matters would turn out, that Lionel had been in some other direction.

But suppose, suspicion whispered, he had been too ready, after all, to trust to appearances; that the dark deformed girl was frightened because she knew that he was in search of his friend, and the old Frenchman was, after all, only an oily-tongued deceiver; while Patty--

There was a warm flush in his face as he strode up the few remaining stairs to the room where Sir Richard Redgrave was seated, ready to start up as the young man entered.

"Well," exclaimed the elder, "what news?"

"None, sir--at present," responded Clayton, gloomily. "I was leaning upon a reed, and I found that it was broken."

Two days after, the following advertis.e.m.e.nt appeared in the second column of the _Times_:--

"Two Hundred Pounds Reward.--Disappeared from his Chambers, 660 Regent Street, on the 6th instant, Lionel George Francis Redgrave, aged 24; 5 feet 11 inches high; muscular, fair open countenance, slight moustache, and the scar of a hunting-fall over the left temple; aquiline nose, light-blue eyes, and closely-curling fair brown hair. Supposed to have worn a black evening-dress suit, with light-grey Warwick overcoat.

Whoever will give such information as shall lead to his discovery, shall receive the above reward.

"660 _Regent Street_."

"That will bring us some news, I hope, Clayton," said Sir Richard. "If it does not at the end of a week, I shall increase it to five hundred, and at the end of another week, I shall double it. Money must find him if he is to be found. But we will find him," he exclaimed, fiercely, "dead or alive--alive or dead," he repeated, with quivering lips. "With all his light carelessness, he never let a whole week pa.s.s without writing to me, and something fearful must have happened, I feel sure."

"Be hopeful, sir, pray," said Clayton, as he gazed in the worn and haggard countenance of the stately old gentleman.

"I will, Clayton--I will, as long as I can; but this is hard work; and if he is dead, it will break my heart. You ought never to have left him," he added, reproachfully.

"I would not have done so," said Clayton, "had I possessed the slightest influence; but during the latter part of my stay I found that he would not submit to the slightest restraint."

"Yes, yes!" said Sir Richard; "I know how obstinate the poor boy was,"

said the old man, in tremulous tones.

"_Is_, sir--_is_" exclaimed Clayton, laying his hand upon Sir Richard's arm.

"Yes, _is_--we will not yet despair," said Sir Richard; "but you had influence--the influence of your quiet, firm example. But did I tell you that I have had reward-bills _posted_ about the streets?" he added hastily, upon seeing Harry's pained and troubled aspect.

"You did not, sir; but it was wisely done. And now it seems to me necessary that one of us should be always here in case of information of any kind arriving."

"I will stay," said Sir Richard; "it is my duty, though the inaction is extremely hard to bear; but I am weak and troubled, and unable to get about."

"You may be the first to get good news," said Harry, smiling.

"Perhaps so--perhaps so," was the reply. "I never knew before how old I had grown. You must carry on the search; but you will come back often, Clayton?"

"I will, sir," said Harry, gently, and soon after he left the house.

Harry's first visit was to Great Scotland Yard, where he was pa.s.sed up-stairs to a quiet ordinary-looking person, in plain clothes, who, however, only shook his head.

"Nothing at present, sir," he said; "but do you know, sir, I think Sir Richard Redgrave is making a mistake, sir--'too many cooks spoil the broth!' Better have left the matter entirely to us; we're doing all we can. Private inquiries are all very well; and Mr Whittrick's a good man--was here, you know; but he's only good for a runaway-match or a slope, or anything of that kind. Sir Richard's wrong, sir, depend upon it he is."

"You must excuse it all on account of the old gentleman's anxiety," said Harry, quietly, as, after being told for the twentieth time that information should be forwarded the moment it arrived, he took his leave, so as to seek the renowned Mr Whittrick, of private-inquiry fame; but here the interview was very similar to the last; and he returned to Sir Richard to find him restlessly pacing the room with a telegram in his hand.

"News?" exclaimed Harry, excitedly.

"For you," said the old man, kindly; "and I hope it is good."

He handed the telegram, which had been sent down to Cambridge, and re-transmitted. It was short and painful. Richard Pellet was the sender, and he announced the sudden and serious illness of Mrs Richard at Norwood--Harry arriving at his mother's bedside, but just in time to receive her farewell.

This was a check to future proceedings, for Harry was deeply affected at the loss. He could not recall the weak woman who had been flattered into marriage without proper settlements by Richard Pellet, but only the tender loving mother, who had always been ready to indulge his every whim; and till after the funeral he was too much unhinged to do more than quietly talk with Sir Richard, who had, on his part, little news to give, save the usual disappointments that follow upon the offering of a reward.

The last sad duties performed to the dead, Harry gladly returned to the task left incomplete, seeing in it relief from his oppressive thoughts, and an opportunity of serving one whom he looked upon as a benefactor.

Volume 2, Chapter XXI.

AT AUSTIN FRIARS.

"What name?" asked a clerk.

"Pellet--Jared Pellet," said the owner of that name.

"Pellet,"--repeated the clerk, hesitatingly; "I'm afraid he's engaged;"

and he looked hard at the shabby visitor to Austin Friars, as much as to say, "You're a poor relation, or I'm no judge."

"Tell him his brother would be glad of a few minutes' conversation,"

said Jared, desperately; and he stood gazing over his brother's offices, where, over their gas-lit desks, some half-score clerks were busy writing.

It was a bitter day, with a dense yellow fog choking the streets, so that eleven o'clock a.m. might have been eleven o'clock p.m., save for the business going on around. The smoke-burdened vapour had even made its way with Jared into the offices; but the glowing fire in the polished stove was too much for it, and the fog soon shrank away, leaving Jared shivering alone, as much from a strange new-born feeling as from cold, as he was gazed at from time to time by some inquisitive eye.

"This way, sir, if you please," said the clerk, and the next minute Jared was standing like a prisoner at the bar before his justice-like brother in a private room--standing, for Richard did not offer him a chair.

"I have come to you for advice," said Jared, plunging at once into the object of his visit.

"If you had come sooner to me for advice, you would not have been in this plight," said Richard, coldly, as he glanced at his brother's shabby garments, and the worn hat he held in his hand. "But what is it?"

Jared stared, for, to the best of his belief, his brother had never given him any advice worth taking.

"Time is money to business people," said Richard, for Jared remained silent.