LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume III, Issue 274, 28 April 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE OTHER EAR-RING. ( Continued.) Lucy did not come. She had indicated the spot where the meeting should be ; and I waited there, making the best I could of it; cooling myself and looking out for her. At half-past four I gave her up in my own mind; and when five o’clock struck, I knew it was useless to stay longer. So I began to take my way back slower and slower then I had come ; and on turning out by St Oswald’s, I saw the people and carriages flocking up on their way from Pitchcroft. The day’s racing was over. There was a crowd at the top of Salt Lane, and I had to wait before I could get across. In the wake of a carriage-and-four that was turning out of it, came Captain Bird, not a feather of his plumage ruffled, not a speck (save dust) on his superfine coat, not a wristband soiled. He had not been ducked if his friend had. * How d’ye do, Master Ludlow ?’ said he, with a grandly patronising air, and a flourish of his cane, as if it were a condescension to notice me. And I answered him civilly, though he must have been aware I knew what a scamp he was. ‘ I wish he’d steal away to America some moonlight night,’ ran my thoughts, “ and leave poor Lucy in peace.’ The Squire’s carriage dashed up to the hotel as I reached it, Tod sitting behind with Giles. I asked which of the two horses had. Swallower : won by half a neck, The Squire was in a glow of satisfaction, boasting of the well contested race. And now, to make things intelligible, I must refer again for a minute or two to that past paper. It may be remembered that when Detective Eccles called on that Sunday afternoon, asking to look at the fellow earring to the one lost, Mrs Todhetley had gone in to the Coneys’, and the Squire sent me for her. When I got there; Lucy Bird was in the drawing-room alone, the Mater being upstairs with Mrs Coney, Poor Lucy told me she had been spending a day or two at Timberdale Gourt (her happy childhood’s home), and had come over to dine with Mr and Mrs Coney, who were always kind to her, she added with a sobbing sigh ; but she was going back to Worcester by the next train. I told her what I had come for —the detective’s visit and his request to see the other ear-ring. Mrs Todhetley felt nervous at meeting a real live detective, and asked me no end of questions as to what this particular one wos like. I said he was no tiger to be afraid of, and described him as well as I could ; a tall, slender, gentlemanly man, well-dressed ; gold studs, a ring on his finger, a blue necktie, and a black moustache. Lucy (I had noticed it at the time) seemed struck with the description ; but she made no remark. Before we turned in at our gate we saw her leave the Coneys’ house, and come stepping through the snow on her way to the station. Since then, until now we had not seen anything of Lucy Bird, The stars flickered through the trees in Sansome Walk as I turned into it. A fine trouble I had had to come ! Some entertainment was in full swing that evening at the Saracen’s Head —a kind of circus, combined with rope-dancing. Worcester would be filled with shows during the race week (I don’t mean those on Pitchcroft), and we went to as many as we could get money for. We had made the bargain with Harry Parker on the course to go to this one and during the crowded dinner Tod asked the Squire’s leave. He gave it with the usual injunction to take care of ourselves, and on condition that we left our watches at home. So, there I was, in a fix ; neither daring to say I could not go, nor daring to say what prevented it, for Lucy had bound me to secresy. ‘ What time is this thing going to be over to-night, Joe ? ’ had questioned the Squire, who was drinking port wine with some more old gentlemen at one end of the table, as we rose to go. ‘ Oh, I don’t know, ’ answered Tod. ‘ About ten o’clock, I dare say.’ ‘ Well, mind you come straight home, you two. I won’t have you getting into mischief. Do you hear, Johnny ? ’ ‘ What mischief do you suppose, sir, we are likely to get into ? ’ fired Tod. ‘ I don’t know,’ answered the Squire. * When I was a young lad—younger than you—staying here at the races with my father, I remember we were so wicked one night as to go about ringing and knocking at all the doors ’

‘ You and your father, sir ?’ asked Tod, innocently. ‘My father, no !’ roared the Squire. ‘ What do you mean, Joe ? How dare you ? My father go about the town knocking at doors and ringing at bells ! How dare you suggest such an idea ? We left my father, sir, at the hotel with his friends at their wine, as you are leaving me with my friends here. It was I and half-a-dozen other young rascals who did it—more shame for us. I can’t be sure how many bell-wires we broke. The world has grown wiser since then, though I (don't think its better ; and—and mind you walk quietly home. Don’t get into a fight, or quarrel, or anything of the kind. The streets are sure to be full of rough people and pickpockets.’ Harry Parker was waiting for us in the hotel gateway. He said he feared we should be late, and though we must have been eating dinner for a week by the time we took over it.

‘ I’m not coming with you, Tod,’ I said ; ‘ I’ll join you presently.’ ‘ Tod turned round and faced me, ‘ What on earth’s that for, Jchnny ?’ ‘ Oh, nothing. I'll come soon. You two go on ’ ‘ Suppose you don’t get a place,’ cried Parker to me.

‘ Oh, I shall get one fast enough ; it won’t be so crowded as all that.’

* Now look here lad,’ said Tod, with his face of resolution, ‘you arc up to some dodge. What is it ? ’ ‘ My head aches badly,’ I said —and that was true. ‘ I can’t go into that hot place until 1 have had a spell of fresh air. But I will be sure to join you later, if I can.’ My headaches were always allowed. I had them rather often. Not the splitting, roaring pain that Tod would get in his head on rare occasions, once a twelvemonth, or so, when anything greatly worried him; but bad enough in all conscience. He said no more ; and set off with Harry Parker up the street towards the Saracen’s Head. The stars were flickering through the trees in Sansome Walk, looking as bright as they do on a frosty night in winter. It was cool and pleasant; the great heat of the day—which must have given me my headache — had passed. Mrs Bird was already at the spot. She drew me underneath the trees on the side, looking up the walk as though she

feared she had been followed. A burst of distant music crashed out and was borne towards us on the air : the circus band, at the Saracen’s Head. Lucy still glanced back the way she had come. ‘ Are you afraid of anything, Lucy ’ ’ ‘ There is no danger, I believe,’ she answered ; ‘ but I cannot help being timid : for, if it were known what I am doing, I—I—I don’t know what they would do to me.’ ‘ You did not come this afternoon.’ ‘No. I was very sorry, but I could not,’ she said as she paced slowly about, side by side. ‘ I had my shawl and bonnet on to come, when Edwards came in—a friend of my husband’s, who is staying with him. He had somehow or other got into the Severn, and looked quite an object, his hair and clothes dripping wet, and his forehead bruised.’ * Why, Lucy, he was ducked !’ I cried excitedly. ‘ I saw it all. That is, I saw the row ; and I saw him when he made his escape across Pitchcroft He had on a smart green cut-away coat, and top-boots. ’ ‘Yes, yes,’ she said ; ‘ I was sure it was something of that kind. When my husband came home later they were talking together in an undertone, Edwards cursing some betting man, and Captain Bird telling Edwards that it was his own fault for not being more cautious. However, I could not come out, Johnny, though I knew you were waiting for me. Edwards asked, as impertinently as he dared, where I was off to. To buy some tea, I answered, but that it did not matter particularly, as I had enough for the evening. They think I have come to buy it now.’ * Do you mean to say, Lucy, that Captain Bird denies you free liberty ? —watches you as a cat does a mouse ?’ ‘No, no ; you must not take up wrong notions of my husband, Johnny Ludlow. Bad though the estimation in which he is held by most people is, he has never really been unkind to me. Trouble, frightful trouble he does bring upon me, for I am his wife and have to share it, but personally unkind to me he has never yet been.’ ‘ Well, I should think it unkind in your place, if I could not go out when I pleased, without being questioned. What do they suspect you would be after ?’ ‘ It is not Captain Bird ; it is Edwards. As to what he suspects, I am sure he does not know himself; but he seems to be generally suspicious of every one, and he sees I do not like him. I suppose he lives in general fear of being denounced to the police, for he is always doing what he calls ‘ shady ’ things ; but he must know that he is safe with us. ‘ Why do you take your wife down. ’ Perhaps he thinks my brothers might be coming to call on me. ‘ What is his name, Lucy ?’ ‘ His name ?’ Edwards.’ ‘ It’s not Eccles, is it ?’ She glanced quickly round at me as we walked, searching my face in the dusk. ‘ Why do you ask that ?’ * Because, when I first saw him to-day on the racecourse with Captain Bird, he put me in mind of the fine gentleman who came to us that Sunday at Crabbcott, calling himself Detective Eccles, and carried off Mrs Todhetley’s other ear-ring.’ Mrs Bird looked straight before her, making no answer. ‘You must remember that afternoon, Lucy. You were at old Coney’s, you know, when I ran over for Mrs Todhetley ; and I told you all about the ear-rings and the detective officer, then making his dinner of half-cold beef at our house while he waited for the Mater to come home and produce the earring. Don’t you remember ? You were just going back to Worcester.’ Still she said not a word. ‘ Lucy, I think it is the same man. Although his black moustache is gone, I feel sure it is he. The face and the tall slender formare just like his.’ ‘ How singular ! ’ she exclaimed in a low tone to herself. * How strangely things come out. ‘ But it is Eccles ? ’ ‘ Johnny Ludlow,’ she said, catching my arm, and speaking in an excited, breathless whisper, • if you were to bring harm on me that is, on him or on my husband through me, I should pray to die.’ ‘ But you need not be afraid. Goodness me, Lucy ! don’t you know that I’d bring no harm on anybody in the world, least of all on you ? Why, you said to me this morning that I was as true as steel. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, bursting into tears. ‘We have always been good friends, have we not, Johnny, since you, a little mite of a child in a tunic and turned down frill, came to see me one day at school, a nearly grownup young lady, and wanted to leave me your bright sixpence to buy gingerbread. Oh, Johnny, if all people were but as loyal and true-hearted as you !’ ‘ Then, Lucy, why need you doubt me ?’ *Do you not see the shadows of those leaves playing on the ground, cast by the light of that gas-lamp ?’ she asked. ‘Just as many shadows, dark as those, lie in the the path of my life. They have taught me to fear an enemy where I ought to look for a friend; they have taught me that life is so full of unexpected windings and turnings that we know not one minute what new fear the next may bring forth. ’ ‘ Well, Lucy, you need not fear me. I have promised you to say nothing of having met you here; and I will say nothing, or of what you tell me. ’ ‘Promise it me again, Johnny. Faithfully.’

Just a shade of vexation crossed my heart thats he should think it needful to reiterate this ; but I would not let my face or voice betray it. ‘ I promise it again Lucy. Faithfully and truly.’ ‘ Ever since last winter I have wanted to hold communication with one of you at your home, and to restore something that had been lost. But it had to be done very, very cautiously without trouble on me or on anybody connected with me. Many an hour, sitting by myself in our poor lodgings in London, have I deliberated whether I might venture to restore this, and how it was to be done ; many a sleepless night has been passed, dwelling on it. Sometimes I thought I would send it anonymously by the post, but it might have been stolen by the way, and I did not dare to register it in my name or address,* sometimes it would occur to me to make a parcel of it and despatch it that way. I never did either. I waited until some chance should bring me again near Mrs Todhetley. But to-day I saw that it would be better to trust you. She is true also, and kind ; but she might not be able to keep the secret from the Squire, and he—he would be sure to betray it, though perhaps not intentionally, to all Timberdald, and there no knowing what mischief might come of it.’ To he continued.