On the morning after the posting of Mrs. Bird’s letter, Mrs. Gillingwater was sitting at breakfast in the parlour of the Crown and Mitre, in no happy frame of mind. Things had gone very ill with her since Joan disappeared, some months previously. To begin with, the ample allowance that Mr. Levinger had been in the habit of paying for his ward’s support no longer found its way into her pocket, and the sums received from that quarter were now inconsiderable, amounting indeed to a remission of rent only. Then, try as she would, she could not extract another farthing from Samuel Rock, who, in fact, had shown the very nastiest temper when she ventured to ask him for a trifle, having gone so far as to allege that she had been playing a double game with him as to Joan, and was concealing from him the secret of that young lady’s whereabouts.
“Look here, mum,” he had said in conclusion, “if you want money you must give value, do you understand? At present you have had lots of money out of me, but I have had precious little value out of you. On the day that you tell me Joan’s true address there will be five-and-twenty sovereigns to go into your pocket. Look, I keep them ready,”—and going to a drawer he unlocked it and showed her the gold, at which Mrs. Gillingwater glared avariciously. “Yes, and on the day that I marry her there’ll be fifty more to follow. Don’t you be afraid but what I can afford it and will keep my word. But till I get that address you sha’n’t have a sixpence—no, not if it was to save you from the poorhouse.”
“I tell you, Mr. Rock, that I have no more notion where she has flitted to than a babe unborn. If any one knows, it’s old Levinger or Sir Henry.”
“And if they know, they keep their mouths shut,” said Samuel. “Well ma’am, you have got my answer, so now I will wish you good morning. When you can let me have that address I shall be glad to see you, but till then perhaps you’ll keep clear, as it don’t look well for a married woman to be always hanging about my house.”
“Any one with a grain of sense in his head might be pretty certain that she wasn’t hanging after an oily-tongued half-bred saint like you,” retorted Mrs. Gillingwater furiously. “I don’t wonder that Joan never could abide you, that I don’t, with your sneaking, snuffling ways, and your eye cocked round the corner. She hates the sight of you, and that’s why she’s run away. She hates you as much as she loves Sir Henry, and small blame to her: ay, you may turn green with jealousy if you like, but it’s true for all that. She’d rather run a mile barefoot to kiss his little finger than she would be carried in a coach-and-four to marry you. So there, you put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Rock!” And she retired, slamming the office and kitchen doors behind her.
When her just wrath against Samuel had subsided, Mrs. Gillingwater considered the position, and since she must get money by hook or by crook, she determined to renew her attack upon Henry, this time by letter. Accordingly she wrote a long and rambling epistle, wherein among other things she accused him of the abduction of her niece, mildly suggesting even that he had murdered her in order to hide his misdeeds. The letter ended with a threat that she would publish his true “karacter” from one end of the county to the other unless the sum of ten pounds was immediately forthcoming. In a few days the answer came; but on opening it Mrs. Gillingwater discovered, to her disgust and dismay, that it was from a firm of lawyers, who informed her in the most pointed language that if any further attempt was made to blackmail their client she would be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law.
All this was bad enough, yet it was but a beginning of troubles. Since Joan’s departure Mr. Gillingwater had been drunk at least twice as often as usual—as he declared in his sober moments, and with some truth, in order to console himself for the loss of Joan, who was the one human creature to whom he was attached. One of these drinking bouts culminated in his making a furious attack, in the bar of the Crown and Mitre, upon a customer who was also drunk. For this assault he was fined at the petty sessions; and on the matter coming before the bench on licensing day, his license to keep a public-house, that already had been twice endorsed by the police, was taken away from him,—which meant, of course, that the Crown and Mitre was closed as a place of refreshment for man and beast for so long as the landlord, Mr. Levinger, chose to allow him to occupy it.
No wonder, then, that on this morning of the receipt of Mrs. Bird’s letter Mrs. Gillingwater was depressed in mind as she sat drinking her tea and trying to master an invitation from no less a person than “Victoria, by the grace of God, etc.,” to attend a county court and show cause why she should not pay a certain sum of four pounds three and nine-pence halfpenny, with costs, for various necessaries of life bought by and duly delivered to her, the said defendant.
Hearing a knock at the door, Mrs. Gillingwater threw down the summons with an expression that was more forcible than polite having reference, indeed, to the temporal and spiritual welfare of her august sovereign and of all those who administer justice under her. Then, having looked carefully through the window to make sure that her visitor was not another bailiff or policeman, she opened the door and took her letter.
“I don’t know the writing,” she muttered, turning it round and round suspiciously. “It may be another of those dratted summonses, or something of that sort; I’ve half a mind to throw it into the fire and swear that I never got it, only then that fool of a postman would give me the lie, for I took it from him myself.”
In the end she opened the letter and spelt through its contents with difficulty and ever growing astonishment.
“Well,” she said, as she put it down, “here’s some luck at last, anyway. If that silly girl doesn’t go and die it will be hard if I don’t turn an honest penny out of her, now that I know where she’s got to. Samuel would pay up to learn, but it’s best to let him lie awhile, for I can work more out of him when she gets well again if she does. I’m off up to the old man’s, for that’s the safest game: he’ll scarcely bow me out with this in my hand; and if I don’t give him a nip or two before I am done with him, the mean old scamp, then my fingers grow on my feet, that’s all!” For be it known that on two recent occasions when Mrs. Gillingwater called, Mr. Levinger had declared himself not to be at home, and this when she could plainly see him standing by the study window.
Reaching Monk’s Lodge in due course, Mrs. Gillingwater, who was not afflicted with Joan’s humility, went to the front door and rang the bell boldly. Its sound disturbed Mr. Levinger from his reading, and he stepped to the window to perceive her standing on the doorstep, red and hot from her walk, and looking, as he thought, unusually large, coarse and violent.
“There is that dreadful woman again,” he said to himself. “I can’t bear the sight of her. I wonder now if, had she lived, poor Mary would have looked like her by this time. Perhaps,” and he sighed; then, opening the door, told the servant to say that he was not at home.
She obeyed, and presently there arose sounds of altercation. “It ain’t no use, you impudent barefaced thing, for you to stand there a-lying your soul away, when I saw him with my own eyes,” shrilled the rough voice of Mrs. Gillingwater.
“Not at home: them’s my orders,” answered the girl with warmth, as she attempted to shut the door.
“No, you don’t, hussy!” retorted the visitor, thrusting her foot between it and the jamb. “I’ve got some orders must see him, about Joan Haste, and if he won’t let me in I’ll holler what I’ve got to say outside the house.”
Alarmed by the violence of her antagonist, the girl retreated, and, returning presently, showed Mrs. Gillingwater into the study without a word. Here she found Mr. Levinger standing by the fire, his face white with anger.
“Be seated, Mrs. Gillingwater,” he said in a quiet voice, “and tell me what you mean by coming to make a disturbance here.”
“I mean that I want to see you, sir,” she answered sullenly, “and that I won’t be driven away from your door like a dog. Once for all I tell you, sir, that you’d better be careful how you treat me, for if you turn dirty to me, I’ll turn dirty to you. It’s only the dead that don’t speak, sir, and I’m very much alive, I am.” Then she paused and added threateningly, “You can’t treat me as I’ve heard say you did another, Mr. Levinger.”
“Have you quite done?” he asked. “Very well, then; be so good as to listen to me: you can tell nothing about me, for the best of all possible reasons, that you know nothing. On the other hand, Mrs. Gillingwater, I can, if necessary, tell something about you perhaps you may remember to what I refer, if not I can refresh your memory ah! I see that there is no need. A moment’s reflection will show you that you are entirely in my power. If you dare to make any attack upon my character, or even to repeat such a disturbance as you have just caused, I will ruin you and drive you to the workhouse, where, except for me, you would have been long ago. In earnest of what I say, your husband will receive to-morrow a summons for the rent that he owes me, and a notice to quit my house. I trust that I have made myself clear.”
Mrs. Gillingwater knew Mr. Levinger well enough to be aware that he would keep his word if she drove him to it; and, growing frightened at the results of her own violence, she began to whimper.
“You never would be so cruel as to deal with a poor woman like that, sir,” she said. “If I’ve spoken rash and foolish it’s because I’m as full of troubles as a thistle-head with down; yes, I’m driven mad, that’s what I am. What with having lost the license, and that brute of a husband of mine always drunk, and Joan, my poor Joan, who was like a daughter to me, a-dying:——
“What did you say?” said Mr. Levinger. “Stop that snivelling, woman, and tell me.”
“Now you see, sir, that you would have done foolish to send me away,” Mrs. Gillingwater jerked out between her simulated sobs, “with the news that I had to tell you. Not as I can understand why it should trouble you, seeing that of course the poor dear ain’t nothing to you; though if it had been Sir Henry Graves that I’d gone to, it wouldn’t have been surprising.”
“Will you tell me what you are talking about?” broke in Mr. Levinger, striking his stick upon the floor. “Come, out with it: I’m not to be trifled with.”
Mrs. Gillingwater glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes, wondering if it would be safe to keep up the game any longer. Coming to an adverse conclusion, she produced Mrs. Bird’s letter, saying, “This is what told me about it, sir.”
He took, or rather snatched the letter from her hand, and read it through with eagerness. Apparently its contents moved him deeply, for he muttered, “Poor girl! to think of her being so ill! Pray Heaven she may not die.” Then he sat down at the table, and taking a telegram form, he filled it in as follows:
“To Mrs. Bird, 8 Kent Street, London, W.
“Your letter to Mrs. Gillingwater received. Spare no expense. Am writing by to-day’s post.
“James Levinger, Monk’s Lodge, Bradmouth.”
“Would you mind ringing the bell, Mrs. Gillingwater?” said Mr. Levinger, as he re-read the telegram and, placing it in an envelope, directed it to the postmaster at Bradmouth. “No, stay: I will see to the matter myself.” And he left the room.
Presently he returned. “I do not know that I need keep you, Mrs. Gillingwater,” he said, “or that I have anything more to say. I shall do my best to look after your niece, and I will let you know how she goes on.”
“Thank you, sir; and about the rent and the notice?”
“At present, Mrs. Gillingwater, I shall dispense with both of them. I do not wish to deal hardly with you unless you force me to it. I suppose that you are in a bad way, as usual?”
“Well, yes, sir, I am. In fact, I don’t quite know what I can do unless I get a little help.”
“Ten pounds?” suggested Mr. Levinger.
“That will tide me over for a bit, sir.”
“Very well, then, here you are,” and he produced the money. “But mind, I give you this for the sake of old associations, little as you deserve it; and if there is any more trouble you will get nothing further from me. One more thing: I expect you to hold your tongue about poor Joan’s illness and her address especially to Sir Henry Graves and Mr. Rock. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Then remember what I say, and good morning; if you want to communicate with me again, you had better write.”
Mrs. Gillingwater departed humbly enough, dropping all awkward courtesy at the door.
“Like the month of March, she came in like a lion and has gone out like a lamb,” reflected Mr. Levinger as the door closed behind her. “She is a dangerous woman, but luckily I have her in hand. A horrible woman I call her. It makes me shudder to think of the fate of anybody who fell into the power of such a person. And now about this poor girl. If she were to die many complications would be avoided; but the thing is to keep her alive, for in the other event I should feel as though her blood were on my hands. Much as I hate it, I think that I will go to town and see after her. Emma is to start for home to-morrow, and I can easily make an excuse that I have come to fetch her. Let me see: there is a train at three o’clock that would get me to town at six. I could dine at the hotel, go to see about Joan afterwards, and telegraph to Emma that I would fetch her in time for the eleven o’clock train to-morrow morning. That will fit in very well.”
Two hours later Mr. Levinger was on his road to London.
Mrs. Gillingwater returned to Bradmouth, if not exactly jubilant, at least in considerably better spirits than she had left it. She had wrung ten pounds out of Mr. Levinger, which in itself was something of a triumph; also she had hopes of other pickings, for now she knew Joan’s address, which it seemed was a very marketable commodity. At present she had funds in hand, and therefore there was no need to approach Samuel Rock which indeed she feared to do in the face of Mr. Levinger’s prohibition; still it comforted her not a little to think that those five-and-twenty sovereigns also were potentially her own.