Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 3

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  GREAT PORTER SQUARE: A MYSTERY.

  BY B. L. FARJEON, _Author of "Grif," "London's Heart," "The House of White Shadows," etc._

  _IN THREE VOLUMES._ VOLUME III.

  LONDON: WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1885. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]

  PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.

  CONTENTS.

  CHAP. PAGE XXXI.--Becky gives a description of an interview between herself and Richard Manx 1

  XXXII.--In which Becky narrates how Fanny became acquainted with Mrs. Lydia Holdfast 15

  XXXIII.--In which Becky narrates how Fanny became acquainted with Mrs. Lydia Holdfast (concluded) 24

  XXXIV.--Mr. Pelham makes his appearance once more 31

  XXXV.--Fanny discovers who Richard Manx is 45

  XXXVI.--Becky and Fanny on the watch 55

  XXXVII.--No. 119 Great Porter Square is let to a new Tenant 71

  XXXVIII.--The new Tenant takes possession of No. 119 Great Porter Square 87

  XXXIX.--Mrs. Holdfast insists on becoming an active partner 113

  XL.--Mrs. Holdfast insists on becoming an active partner (concluded) 118

  XLI.--Frederick Holdfast makes the discovery 134

  XLII.--Mr. Holdfast's Diary 147

  XLIII.--Mr. Holdfast's Diary (concluded) 177

  XLIV.--Caged 207

  XLV.--Retribution 218

  XLVI.--In which the "Evening Moon" gives a Sequel to its "Romance in Real Life" 224

  GREAT PORTER SQUARE: A MYSTERY.

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  BECKY GIVES A DESCRIPTION OF AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN HERSELF AND RICHARDMANX.

  MY DEAREST LOVE--How, did you like my little messenger, Fanny? Is shenot steady, and bright, and clever? When she woke this morning I had anearnest conversation with her, and as far as was necessary I told her myplans and that I wanted her faithful assistance. She cried for joy. Thefew words she managed to get out convinced me that, child as she is,I could not be better served by a grown-up person. Besides, I want achild to assist me; a grown-up person might spoil my plans. In what way?Patience, my dear, patience.

  Mrs. Preedy noticed that I looked tired, and I told her that I had beenkept awake all the night with toothache. She expressed great sympathywith me. It is wonderful the position I hold in the house; I am treatedmore like a lady than a servant. That is because I have lent my mistressforty pounds, and have agreed to pay for little Fanny's board andlodging. Mrs. Preedy threw out a hint about taking me into partnership,if I would invest my fancied legacy into the business.

  "We could keep on this house," she said, "and take another on the otherside of the Square."

  I said it was worth thinking about, but that, of course, I could donothing until I received the whole amount of the legacy which would bein three weeks' time. So the matter rests; during these three weeks Mrs.Preedy will be very gracious to me, I expect. She said this morning,when I told her about my toothache,

  "You had better lay down, my dear."

  Actually! "My dear!"

  I did lie down, and I had a good rest, so that my keeping up all nightdid not hurt me. I feel now quite refreshed, although it is night, andeleven o'clock. Mrs. Preedy, as usual, is out gossiping with Mrs. Beale,and I am writing in the kitchen. When she comes home I shall continue myletter in my bedroom. I have much to tell you. Things seem to move onrapidly. I have no doubt that in a very short time something importantwill come to light.

  After sending Fanny to you this morning, I went up to our bedriddenlady-lodger, Mrs. Bailey. From her I obtained some significant news.She had passed a bad night; the noise in the next house, as of some onemoving about in the room in which your father met his death, had "comeagain," she said, and had continued for at least a couple of hours. Shedeclared that it did not sound like mice, and that she did not knowreally what to think. What she _did_ know was that she was almostfrightened out of her life. I suggested that Fanny should sleep in herroom for a night or two, and I told her about the little girl. "Itwill be company for you," I said. The old lady was delighted at thesuggestion, and with the consent of Mrs. Preedy, I made up a bed forFanny on the floor, close to the wall, and she is sleeping there now.I am satisfied she is asleep, because Richard Manx is not in the house.I have confided in Fanny, and she is so devoted to my service that Iam certain, while she is in her bed, no sound can be made in the roomadjoining without her hearing it. Her faculties have been sharpened bya life of want, and her nature is a very grateful one.

  It was not without reflection that I have taken advantage of theopportunity to change Fanny's bedroom. It will afford me a better excusefor going upstairs more frequently than usual, and thus keeping a watchon the movements of our young man lodger. It will also give Fanny anopportunity of watching him, for I intend employing her in this way,and in watching another person, too. Richard Manx has not seen mylittle detective yet, nor shall he see her, if it can be prevented. Myinstructions to Fanny are to keep herself carefully out of his sight; itis part of a plan, as yet half formed, that she should be very familiarwith his face, and he not at all familiar with hers. Twice during theday has she seen him, without being seen, and this evening she gave mea description of his personal appearance so faithful as to be reallystartling. Slight peculiarities in him which had escaped my noticehave not escaped Fanny's; she has found out even that he wears a wig,and that he paints his face. This poor little child is going to beinvaluable to me. If all goes well with us we must take care of her.Indeed, I have promised as much.

  Now let me tell you what else I have done, and what has occurred. Inthe note you sent back by Fanny this morning, you express anxietyconcerning me with reference to Richard Manx. Well, my dear, I intendto take great care of myself, and in the afternoon I went out shoppingaccompanied by Fanny. I paid a visit, being a woman, to a milliner anddressmaker, and bought some clothes. For myself? No, for Fanny, and withthem a waterproof to cover her dress completely, from top to toe. Then Imade my way to a wig shop in Bow Street, and bought a wig. For myself?No--again for Fanny. And, after that, where do you think I went? To agunsmith, of all places in the world. There I bought a revolver--thetiniest, dearest little pistol, which I can hold in the palm of my handwithout anyone but myself being the wiser. I learnt how to put in thecartridges. It is very easy. With that in my pocket, I feel almost assafe as if you were by my side. Do not be troubled about this, and donot think I am in any danger. I am perfectly safe, and no harm willbefall me. Of course, there is only one person to whom it might happenI would show my pretty little pistol--to Richard Manx. And I amconvinced that the merest glimpse of it would be enough for him. You cantell by looking into a man's face and eyes whether he is brave as wellas bold, and I am satisfied that Richard Manx is a coward.

  I saw him this evening. I have not yet had an opportunity to tell youthat he endeavoured to make himself very agreeable to me three daysago, when he met me, as I was returning to G
reat Porter Square from thepost-office. He promised to make me a present of some acid drops, ofwhich he seems to be very fond. He did not keep his word until thisevening, when he presented me with a sweet little packet, which Iput into the fire when I was alone. He spoke of his property and hisexpectations.

  "I wish," said he, as he offered me the sweets, "that this paper wasfilled with diamonds; it would be--a--more agreeable. But I am poor,miserably poor--as yet. It will be one day that I shall be rich--thenshall I present myself to you, and offer to you what I better wish."

  "Why should you do so?" I asked. "You are a gentleman, although you haveno money----"

  "Ah, yes," he said, interrupting me, and placing his hand on his heart,"I am a gentleman. I thank you."

  "And," I continued, "I am so much beneath you."

  "Never," he said, energetically; "I have said to you before, you are alady. Think you I do not know a lady when she presents herself? It isnot station--it is not birth--it is not rank. It is manner. On my honourI say it--you are a lady."

  I gave him a sharp look, doubtful for a moment whether he was inearnest; but the false ring in his false voice should of itself haveconvinced me that he was as insincere as it was possible for any humanbeing to be.

  "It is," he said, with a wave of his hand towards the Square, "stillexcitement. People still come to look and see. What do they expect?"

  "I suppose," I said, "it is because of that wonderful account in thenewspaper about the poor gentleman who was murdered. Did you read it?"

  "Did I read it!" he echoed. "I was the first. It is what yousay--wonderful. What think you of the lady with the pretty name--Iforget it--remind me of it."

  "Lydia," I said.

  "Ah, yes, Lydia. It is a pretty name--remarkable." ("Then," thought I,following his words and manner with close attention, "if you think thename so pretty and remarkable, how comes it that you forget it so soon?"But I did not say this aloud.) "What think you of her?"

  "I think she is to be pitied," I said; "it was a dreadful story she toldthe reporter. It is like a romance."

  "A romance," he said, "is something that is not true?"

  "It _must_ be true," I said. "Do you suppose any person--especially alady, as Mrs. Holdfast is--could possibly say what is not true, in sucha position as hers?"

  "It is not--a--possible," he replied. "You are right. What say thepeople? As you say?"

  "They can say nothing else. What object could she have to serve inspeaking anything but the truth? Her husband is dead; that wicked youngman--what was his name?" I asked, serving him in his own coin.

  "Frederick," he said, quickly.

  "That wicked young man, Frederick, is dead, and she is left alone, arich widow. Money is very nice. I should like to have as much. I thinkit would almost console me for the loss of a husband--especially ahusband much older than myself."

  Forgive me, my dear, for speaking in this way, but to say honestly to aman like Richard Manx what is in one's mind would not be wise.

  He smiled at my words.

  "It may be," he said, "that Madame Lydia thinks as you. But you wouldnot have been so--what do you call it? indiscreet?--yes, that wordwill do--you would not have been so indiscreet as to say to a gentlemanof the press as much as she said. It was too candid--there wasno--a--necessity. Why proclaim it?"

  "Why not proclaim it?" I asked, "It may assist justice."

  "Assist what?"

  "Justice," I replied. "What is that unfortunate lady's first and mostearnest desire? To discover the murderer of her husband, and to make himpay the penalty of his crime. It would be mine. I would even go to seethe monster hanged."

  "It is the proper word. Monster--yes, he is, he must be. But youcould never--no never! You are too soft--that is, tender. Who is themonster? If you it were who was wronged, I am he who would find him.But this Madame Lydia, she is to me nothing. What say you? Can yoususpect? In this Great Porter Square can anyone suspect? Our amiablelady of No. 118--Mrs. Preedy--even she cannot say. Ah, but it isdark--mysterious. Yet I have a thought--it is here." He tapped hisforehead. "Shall I speak it?"

  "Yes."

  "Bah! Why? It is not to me an interest. But if you wish so much to hear!Ah! well--my thought is this. The son, the wicked young man, Frederick,he is, they say, dead. But if he be not dead? What then? The monster,he--in secret to kill the father he betrayed!"

  I turned my face from him, for I felt that it had grown suddenly white.My heart beat violently. Swiftly to my mind rushed the thought of yourdeadly peril. There came to me, in one clear, convincing flash, what,under other circumstances, would have taken me hours to work out. Thinkfor yourself--consider calmly the circumstantial force of all that haspassed--and you will see, as I see, how easy it would be to construct achain of evidence against you from which it is scarcely possible youcould escape.

  "You are agitated," said Richard Manx. "You turn from me. Why?"

  In an instant I recovered my self-possession. I turned my face to him,and it seemed to me as if I had forced colour into it.

  "The thought is so horrible," I said. "That a son should kill his fatherin cold blood! I cannot bear to contemplate it. What wickedness there isin the world!"

  "It is so," said Richard Manx, with a smile, as though we wereconversing on a pleasant subject. "Then what shall a man do? Livewell--eat well--drink well--sleep well. There is a reason. The world iswicked. I cannot alter it. You cannot alter it. A lesson comes. Enjoy.Must you go? Must you leave me? I kiss your hand. No? In my fancy, then.Till again, fair Becky, adieu."

  Our conversation was at an end, and I was thankful. I have beenparticular in my endeavour to show you the man, from his words andmanner of speech. Good-night, my dearest. In my own mind I am satisfiedthat this day has not been wasted. It leads to days more important toyou and to your ever devoted.

  [Decoration]