Johnny Ludlow Second Series Part 97

Late in the afternoon I went to the Parsonage, wondering how I should get to see Edna Blake alone. But Fortune favoured me--as it seemed to have favoured us throughout. The children were all at play in the nearest field. Edna was in what they called the schoolroom in her lilac-print dress, looking over socks and stockings, about a wheelbarrow-full. I saw her through the window, and went straight in.

Her large dark eyes looked as sad and big as the hole she was darning; and her voice had a hopeless ring in it.

"Oh, Johnny, how you startled me! Nay, don't apologize. It is my fault for being so nervous and foolish. I can't think what has ailed me the last few days: I seem to start at shadows. Have--have you come to tell me anything?"

By the shrinking voice and manner, I knew what she feared--that Fred Westerbrook was taken. Looking round the room, I asked whether what we said could be heard.

"There's no one to hear," she answered. "Poor Mrs. Holland is in bed.

Mr. Holland is out; and Anne is shut up, cleaning the kitchen."

"Well, then," I said, dropping my voice, "I have brought you a message from Fred Westerbrook."

Down went the socks in a heap. "Oh, Johnny!"

"Hus.h.!.+ No: he is not taken; he is in safe hiding. What's more, Edna, he is no more guilty than I am. He met the poachers accidentally that night just before the affray, and he never had a gun in his hands at all."

A prolonged, sobbing sigh, as if she were going to faint, and then a glad light in her eyes. She took up her work again. I went over to the seat next her, and told her all. She was darning all the while. With such a heap of mending the fingers must not be idle.

"To America!" she repeated, in answer to what I said. "What is he going to do for money to carry him there?"

"He talks of working his pa.s.sage over. He has enough money about him, he says, to take him to the coast. Unfortunately, neither Tod nor I can help him in that respect. We have brought empty pockets from school, and shall have no money before the time of going back again. Will you go in and see him, Edna?"

"Yes," she said, after a minute's consideration. "And I will bring a roll of music in my hand, as you suggest, Johnny, for the satisfaction of Clerk b.u.mford's curiosity. I will be at the stile as near eight o'clock as I can, if you will come out there to meet me: but it is Sat.u.r.day night, you know, when there's always a great deal to do."

Dinner was made later than usual that night at home: it had struck half-past seven before we got out, having secured another bottle of beer. The moon was rising behind the trees as we went into the barn.

Tod struck a match, and we looked about. Yes, Fortune was with us still.

Hanging on the shaft of the cart, was Mack's smock-frock. It was anything but clean; but beggars can't be choosers. Next we descried a cotton neckerchief and a pair of boots; two clumsy, clod-hopping boots, with nails in the soles, and the outside leather not to be seen for patches.

"They must do," said Tod, with a rueful look. "But just look at the wretches, Johnny. I must smuggle these and the smock-frock into the church-porch, whilst you go round to old B.'s for the key."

"I have the key. I flung him a s.h.i.+lling this morning instead of the key, saying I might be wanting to practise at any hour to-day, and would give it him back to-night."

Going by the most solitary way, I let Tod into the church, and went to meet Edna Blake. She was already there, the roll of music in her hand.

b.u.mford shot out of his house, and crossed our path.

"Good-evening, Mr. b.u.mford!" said she, cheerily. "I am come to try the hymns for to-morrow, with Johnny Ludlow."

"They'd need to be sum'at extra, they had, with all this here fuss of practising," returned b.u.mford, ungraciously. "Is the parson at home, Miss Blake?"

"Yes. He is in the little room, writing."

"'Cause I want to see him," said the clerk; and he stalked off.

"Do you know how Gisby is?" Edna asked me in a whisper.

"Dead by this time, I dare say. But I have not heard."

They were at the top of the church when we got in, laughing in covert tones; I guessed it was over those dreadful boots. Edna stood by me whilst I locked the door, and then we went at once to the organ and began the hymn. Old b.u.mford could not be too far off yet to catch the sounds. Presently Fred Westerbrook and Edna went into the aisle, and paced it arm-in-arm. I kept on playing; Tod, not knowing what to do with himself, whistled an accompaniment.

"How long shall I be away, Edna!" exclaimed Fred, in answer to her question. "Why, how can I tell? It may be for years; it may be for ever.

I cannot come back, I suppose, whilst this thing is hanging over my head."

She was in very low spirits, and the tears began to drop from her eyes.

Fred could see that much, as they paced through one of the patches of moonlight.

"You may not succeed in getting away."

"No, I may not. And do you know, Edna, there are moments when I feel half inclined not to attempt it, but to give myself up instead, and let the matter take its course. If I do get away, and get on in the States, so as to make myself a home, will you come out and share it with me?"

"Yes," she answered.

"I may do it. I think I shall. Few people know more about the cultivation of land than I do, and I will take care to put my shoulder to the wheel. Practical farmers get on well there if they choose, though they have to rough it at first. Be very sure of one thing, Edna: all my hopes and aims will be directed to one end--that of making a home for you."

She could not speak for crying.

"It may not be a luxurious home, neither may I make anything of a position. But if I make enough for comfort, you will come out to it?"

"I will," she said with a sob.

"My darling!"

Echo bore the words to us, softly though they were spoken. I played a cras.h.i.+ng chord or two, after the manner of Richards.

"You may not hear from me," continued Fred. "I must not give any clue to where I am, and therefore cannot write--at least, not at present. Men accused of murder can be brought home from any part of the world. Only trust me, Edna. _Trust me!_ though it be for years."

No fear but she would. She put a small packet in his hand.

"You _must_ take it, Frederick. It is my last half-year's salary--ten pounds--and I chance to have it by me: a loan, if you will; but take it you shall. Knowing that you have a few pounds to help you away and to fall back upon, will make things a little less miserable for me."

"But, Edna----"

"I declare I will throw it away if you do not take it," she returned, warmly. "Do not be cruel to me, Frederick. If you knew how it will lighten my doubts and fears, you would not for a moment hesitate."

"Be it so, Edna. It will help me onwards. Truth to say, I did not see how I should have got along, even to the coast, unless I had begged on my way. It is a loan, Edna, and I will contrive to repay it as soon as may be."

So his boast of having money to take him to the coast had been all a sham. Poor Fred! They began to take leave of one another, Edna sobbing bitterly. I plunged into the "Hallelujah Chorus."

Tod let her out, and watched her safely across the churchyard. Then we locked the door again for the dressing-up, I playing a fugue between whiles. The first operation was that of cutting his hair short, for which we had brought the mater's big scissors. No labourer would be likely to possess Fred's beautiful hair, or wear it so long. Tod did it well; not counting a few notches, and leaving him as good as none on his head.

It was impossible to help laughing when we took a final look at him in the moonlight, Fred turning himself about to be inspected: his hair, clipped nearly to the roots, suggesting a suspicion that he had just come out of prison; his trousers, not reaching to the ankle, showing off the heavy, patched, disreputable boots; the smock-frock; and Mack's spotted cotton neckerchief m.u.f.fled round his chin!

"Your own mother wouldn't know you, Fred."

"What a figure I shall cut if I am dropped upon and brought back!"

"Take heart, man!" cried Tod. "Resolve to get off, and you will get off."

"Yes, Fred, I think you will. You have been so _helped_ hitherto, that I think you will be helped still."