Caught in a Trap Part 18

"That's where you make the mistake, my dear sir! She's no more insane than you are. Her people ought to have told you that, for although she had been previously a little 'foolish,' perhaps, they saw her improvement of late; and she had the sense, at all events, to run away with me and get married, and that's no proof of her insanity."

"I don't know about that," said Mr Trump, "I don't know about that. I remember now, the old doctor said that she had been more intelligent before she disappeared, but he did not tell me that Susan Hartshorne was quite right in her mind, and I won't believe it. Do you know Mr --, I beg your pardon, I did not catch your name."

"Markworth, Allynne Markworth," said that gentleman.

"Thank you! Well then, Mr Allynne Markworth, do you know that that girl has a large fortune, and it is a very serious offence in the eyes of the law to abduct, and enter into a false contract of marriage with a girl of feeble intellect like that?"

"I am perfectly aware of the facts as you state them, my dear sir.

Allow me to congratulate you on your legal presence of mind and abilities," said Markworth, as calmly as ever. "I knew she had a fortune, but you will have to prove she was _non compos mentis_, I believe that's your term for it, when I married her. The girl was of age, my dear sir. Look at that marriage certificate, and see for yourself. She was of legal age on the very day before we were married.

There! you see the date of the certificate, 28th August, 1867."

"Well, well, whether she was of age or not you can be prosecuted under an indictment for a conspiracy to obtain the money of a person of unsound mind, under the pretence of going through a marriage ceremony with a person who, in the eye of the law, could not make a binding contract!"

"Precisely, my dear sir!" said the other, coolly, Mr Sequence, of course, taking no part in the conversation. "Precisely, but you see you will have to prove, in the first place, that the girl was of unsound mind; and in the second, to prove conspiracy you will have to implicate two or more persons. You see, I too, know the law, Mr Trump: allow me to inform you that I alone was concerned in the affair, how will you prove your conspiracy?"

The lawyer looked fairly baffled. "The girl's found at all events, and that's one trouble saved," he said to himself.

Markworth resumed after a moment's pause, "You see, my dear sir, the girl was of age, she was unhappy at home, she ran away with me and married me: the whole thing lies in a nutsh.e.l.l. I wasn't to blame; and, of course, as she has property, I shall take very good care to a.s.sert my rights as her husband. But that's an after consideration. You are quite satisfied that the girl is found, I suppose?" said Markworth, after detailing how Susan had met him on the day of her disappearance, taken train with him at Bigglethorpe Station (corroborated as the lawyer remembered, by his and the detective's enquiries on the day they went down to Hartwood), from whence they had come up to London, and then gone to Havre. The marriage certificate and photograph were also convincing proofs of his statement.

"Yes," said Mr Trump, "I suppose you have the girl; but it's a very queer case."

"My address is _Numero Sept_, _Rue Montmartre_, Havre, where you can see Mrs Markworth yourself: now I'll thank you to hand over that fifty pounds you offered as a reward for any information about her."

"By George!" said the lawyer, "you're a cool hand, and no mistake!" He could not gainsay Markworth's statement, however; so, unlocking his cash box, and taking out five ten pound notes, he handed them to him reluctantly. "There they are, and much good may they do you!" said Mr Trump, ruefully--He felt just as if he had been the victim of a practical joke.

Markworth, after counting them over carefully, pocketed the notes with the utmost _sang froid_. "I suppose you will inform Mrs Hartshorne of her daughter's marriage?"

"Of course, sir, of course! I shall make it my business to go down there myself at once."

"Aye, do, my dear sir! and get all those unpleasant details over. I'm myself going down to-morrow, and should not like to be bothered in having to make any explanation."

"You'll get as much as you want," said Mr Trump, significantly, "when you come across the old lady." And Mr Trump bethought him, with ill-concealed satisfaction, of the reception with which Markworth would probably meet; it would be a sort of t.i.t-for-tat, or _quid pro quo_, for the "sell" he had just been made a victim of, in having to hand over that fifty pounds to the very man who had caused all the worry of Susan's disappearance. "You won't get any money out of her," he thought.

"I shall instruct my solicitors," said Markworth, as he turned to leave the room, after making the first move of his game of chess, "to substantiate my marriage, which can be easily done, and claim my wife's fortune."

"You had better," said Mr Trump, savagely; "you won't get it, my dear sir, without a fight, I can tell you!"

"Ha--um! _we_ will see," said Markworth, putting on his hat. "Good morning, gentlemen--good morning!" and he went out.

"Morning!" grunted Mr Trump, feeling as if he had undergone a defeat; and "Morning," echoed Mr Sequence, who had been listening carefully all the time, without putting in a word. He had the whole conversation, however, stored up in his brain for the future use of the firm.

Volume 2, Chapter V.

CONVALESCENT.

At the commencement of the fifth chapter of the veracious history of the Knight of La Mancha, it is related that "Don Quixote perceiving that he was not able to stir, resolved to have recourse to his signal remedy, which was to bethink himself what pa.s.sage in his books might afford him comfort; and presently this fully brought to his remembrance that story of Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Charlotte left the former wounded on the mountain: a story learned and known by little children,"--as the author proceeds to comment,--"not unknown to young men and women, celebrated and even received by the old, and yet not a jot more authentic than the miracles of Mahomet."

In a similar way did our wounded hero, Master Tom, hasten his recovery by thinking over all the charming little love pa.s.sages which had occurred between Miss Lizzie and himself; consequently in a few weeks, thanks to Cupid's recollections and the aid of pharmacy, our hero was nearly on his legs again.

The broken--"smashed" the doctor called them--ribs had been steadily improving, in spite of all the anxiety Tom suffered on his sister's account, sanguine though he was of her yet being brought home; and by the time that Markworth divulged his plot, and Mr Trump hastened down to The Poplars to communicate it, Master Tom had progressed his cure as rapidly as did Don Quixote, being able to leave his bed and hobble about a bit before being declared by Doctor Jolly to be quite convalescent and out of his hands. The young squire had, however, youth and health to back him up, which enabled the "signal remedy," perhaps, to have more effect on him than it had on Sancho Panza's master.

The interest which the invalid Tom had created, had somewhat deadened the effect of Susan's disappearance; and although that was as yet an unsolved secret, and the cause of much anxiety, still everyone, both in and out of the household, celebrated it as a day of rejoicing when Tom made his first re-appearance down stairs. The young Antinous had undergone the scars and strife of battle: it was meet that his recovery should be made much of, as indeed was the case.

Tom came down stairs, and all were glad to see him: even the dowager allowed a frigid smile of welcome to flit across her features as he entered the dining-room once more; and "Garge," whom he met in the pa.s.sage, exclaimed, with his customary "ploughishness--"

"Lor' sakes, Measter Tummus! I are roight glad to say un!"

Miss Kingscott expressed her welcome by far too warmly, the old lady thought, for she advanced eagerly and squeezed the hand Tom offered, after curtseying low. Doctor Jolly was pleased to be present also on the occasion.

"Bless my soul, Tom!" he said. "Here we are, as right again as ninepence, my boy; I told you so, Mrs Hartshorne--I told you so," as if that lady were disputing the point. She was too glad to see Tom, however, to argue with the doctor as usual, but yielded the point gracefully, only throwing cold water on the ecstasies of our friend Damon, by suggesting that Tom's youth and const.i.tution had pulled him through better perhaps than all the physic and meddling doctors in the world. Doctor Jolly, however, could also afford to be lenient; so he left the dowager's challenge unanswered.

After a day or two, Tom hobbled out into the garden. He was still very weak and pale, but improving; and as soon as he had tried his powers at hobbling outside the front door, he determined to hobble down to the parsonage. "It was only right, you know, after all their kind enquiries every day about his health!" The Pringles had sent up every morning an extraordinary looking young female servant of theirs, whom the dowager christened "the Gezaba," to ask how "Mister Tom was getting on."

Naturally Tom could do no less than return his thanks for such an attention: it could be no other motive that would take him out down to the parsonage so soon after he was able to stir--nothing else, of course!

Accordingly, Tom sallied out a day or two after he had come down stairs, telling no one of his venture, for they would all have been up in arms at his walking so far so soon after his illness.

It was now a month past the era of the pic-nic--a month remarkable for much besides his accident, and Tom had many things to think of, not the least of which was the recollection of what he had said to Lizzie, and she to him, just after he had been wounded. Doctor Jolly had acted as a sort of go-between to them, having carried many a little message twixt The Poplars and the parsonage, after Tom had been placed _hors de combat_. Kind hearted old Doctor Jolly--his is the truest and most pleasant face on these pages!

Tom remembered that walk of his for many a day afterwards. How he had paused at that corner to take breath, and rested on this stile here to recover his faintness; and how he thought he would never be able to reach his destination, until he saw the square old tower of the church and the trim built parsonage beyond. But he got over the ground heavily, hobbling along by the aid of his stick, and receiving hearty greetings of "Foine day, sir!" from the fat farmers, who rejoiced to see the "yoong squoire" about again.

The parsonage never looked prettier, he thought, as he got to the gate at last, and Tom rolled over in his mind what he should say to Lizzie, and if she would be glad to see him, and whether he should see her at all.

His doubts were, however, soon solved. The "Gezaba of a servant" who opened the door and bungled out a sort of greeting to him, told him that both "Miss Lizzie and the master" were in. Tom could have dispensed with Pringle's presence, but he had to make the best of a bad bargain.

As he entered the little drawing-room which he knew so well, Pringle stepped forward gladly to meet him, while Lizzie remained shyly in the background.

"By Jove! Tom"--they had long since dropped surnames between them, as men do after a little intimacy--"I'm right glad to see you, old fellow!

But we heard that you only got out of bed the day before yesterday, so we hardly expected you to come over yet. How are you, old fellow, eh?"

and he shook Tom eagerly by the hand.

"Oh, I'm all right," answered our hero, after which he gave Lizzie's hand a very hard squeeze, which caused that young lady to blush furiously, but in a moment the flush of excitement pa.s.sed off Tom's face, and he looked as pale as death; if he had not caught hold of the back of a chair he would have dropped down. The walk had certainly been too much for him.

"Oh! Herbert," exclaimed Lizzie, in alarm, "he's going to faint!" and she ran forward to Tom, who, I believe, would have cheerfully fainted at the juncture, if he could possibly have achieved it; you see, the circ.u.mstances were very favourable to the occasion.

As it was, the "gay young dog," as Doctor Jolly would have said, was "in precious nice quarters," for there he was in a moment, by the aid of Pringle's arm, laid out on the comfortable sofa, with Lizzie bathing his forehead with _eau de Cologne_, and handing him smelling salts, and Pringle enquiring every moment, "Do you feel better now, eh, old fellow?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!" said Lizzie, as she bent over him with her face suffused with a carnation tinge whenever she caught his eye, which the artful rogue contrived should happen very frequently--"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! walking out so soon, and you deserve a good punis.h.i.+ng."

And Miss Lizzie looked very stern, indeed, with her violet eyes beaming with a rich warm light: she seemed as if she would punish Master Tom very severely.

"Yes, it's very wrong," answered the rec.u.mbent hero; "but you see, I could not help it, you know!" and Miss Lizzie blushed again, as Tom looked very meaningly at her.

"Better now, old fellow?" put in Pringle, at this juncture. "That's right: you don't look so pale now. By Jove! I thought you were going to faint."

"Bless you! I'll be right in a twinkle," answered Tom. "You see, the walk was a trifle too much; but I feel decidedly better now," with a look at the young lady's eyes to invigorate himself anew: the violet eyes seemed to act as a sort of tonic.

"You shall be condemned to lie on the sofa all the afternoon, sir!" said Lizzie, "as a punishment for your imprudence!"

"All right," laughed Tom, "I'll stop for ever--that is if you'll let me; but what will your brother say?" he asked, with a roguish glance.