MERLIN OF ROTHERHITHE.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 59, 14 May 1907, Page 4

MERLIN OF ROTHERHITHE.

A ROMANCE THAT EXDED IX TRAGEDY. By H. F. ABELL. Every Thursday, with the regularity of clockwork, Miss Eunice Covcrdale a plea*antfaccd maiden ..idy oi sixlv came up to London from her beautiful home in the Weahl of Kent to do sonic ■shopping. It was the great event of aer week; she allowed no business or pleasure to interfere with it, and to mark its importance she arm veil herself, no matter what the weather, in her vei-v best.

Every Thursday morning the roomv barouche carried her to the railway station in time to have a good twenty minutes for ticket taking, inquiry making, ami general preparation. The train conveyed her to Charing Cross, -when,) a particular whi'e omnibus took her to Wcatmins«er LAlhJiev. She Always a | ighted at the Abbey, because she liked the walk.to the ' Armv and Xtve Stores.

Miss Eunice was the kindest, mildest—except when roused—most generous. most tender hearted of women. When other people were concerned-, she kep no account of pounds. When she herself was concerned she took care of every penny.

She had performed this weekly journey for many years without any adventure out of the common. Upon a certain October day In the year lilOfi she met with her first.

As she was pissing Ihe opening of that delectable neighbourhood known as Strutton Ground, slie was aware of a small crowd gathered a. few paces down the street. Big crowds Miss Eunice avoided, but a small crowd with a policeman as its central Hgure piqued her curiosity. She trotted up and craned her neck over two plaided female shoulders. A big, kindly-faced policeman was bending over a very small boy, about as ragged as lie could be, barefooted, hatless, tangle-beaded, with a big bump on his forehead and a stream of dry blood leading from above his eye down his cheek.

The policeman was catechising the urchin, who declined to answer except in whispers. Miss Eunice listened. Suffering and grief never failed to touch her heart, and in her eagerness to catch what was going on she had edged herself to the front row.

"Who is he, and what is he, policeman?" she asked.

The big man looked up. "Blest if I know, mum," he replied, "and I've been tryin' find out for ten minutes." Miss Eunice tried her hand. "My child," she said, "tell me what is the matter."

Something in the voice made the urchin raise his eyes off the mini. He was not a beauty, b.u tfiere was the making of something, thought Miss Eunice, in the large brown eyes which looked up at her. When he saw ijhi! kind face his tongue relaxed.

"Father ketched me a wipe on the tad 'cos I wasn't doin' nothink," he said. "And who is your father!" "Father? Why, e's father, and sells soldiers and two-eyed steaks." "Sells what?" exclaimed Miss Eunice. "Red herrings and bloaters, mum," explained tim policeman.

"And where docs he live?" j "Rotherhithe." [ "And you've come all the way from jjßotherhithe?" "Yes. or he'd ha' served me same as I Jack the Ripper did." . Miss Eunice sighed at the peculiar knowledge of this seven-year-old.

"Please don't semi me back'm. 1 don f. want to be 'Rippered.' " Miss Eunice twitched her lips and waved her littl? finger. -It was a way she had when a conltia was going on in her mind. When Mi«s Eunice twitched her lips and waved her little linger at whist, you might be quite sure that she had a good trump in her hand. "Policeman, please call me a cab," she said presently. "As this child's parents evidently don't want him, I presume I'm not acting illegallv in taking charge oi him?" "No, mum. I should think not," replied tli? giant, and added cautiously, "leastways, faint often done, so I can't sav for sure."

"I'll risk it. Call a cab, pk>a>e. Lit tie bov. what's vour name?"

"Merling." "What?" "Merling." "Merling whac?" "Merling nothink 'in."

"And what's your father's name?" "Merling. Same as mine." The cab drove up. "Now you're sure you'd like to go with me?"

"Yes, please'm. I'm so 'ungry." "Lord bless nie! 1 never thought of that!" exclaimed Misfe Eunice. Ami, followed by a tail of tattered young ladies and gentlemen, she took Merlin's hand and trotted him over to a confectioner's shop; and although the big-head-ed young lady with bracelets anil rings looked scornfully at t!Ye little customer, • Miss Eunice sat him down at a marble [table and waited until he had put himself outside three goodly sandwiches and a bottle of ginger ale with the rcacii ness of genuine want. Then they entered a eib and the people cheered. "\Yheer to, ngn;" asked the driver. "To the nearest public wash-houses," replied Miss Eunice. "Good afternoon, policeman!"

"Afternoon, mum, and thank you'm," replied A 400, adding the tag as he slipped a coin which was not, copper intohis pocket. "A hangel in white 'air, that's what I call her," he he pursued his beat.

We need not follow the progress of Miss Eunice and her protege during the remainder of the afternoon, but some hours later out of a first-class railway carriage and into the roomy barouche at Wyehden Station got not only Miss Eunice, but a clean, decently chid, little boy, who would have «ecn almost good looking Jrat for the wounds on his face, and whom not even A 400, well trained in the science of recognition ns ha was. would have known for the scarecrow of S-rutton Gnflnd. Merling had said nothing since he left Charing Cross. Evidently the sudden change of life and scene had benumbed his faculty of speech, but the large brown eyes were ever looking about; he clung close to Miss Eunice's arm during the whole journey winch, as he was now clean and wholesome, she did not mind, although she had on her best mantle with the bead trimming; but at every sharp roar, such as when they raced through a station or tunnel ot under a bridge, he clung tremblingly, and in these little actions Miss Eunice read the keynole of his young lite—Fear. Long before the carriage pulled up at Wyehden Hall, Merlin was fast asleep. When Anthony, the vail footman, saw that his mistress was accompanied, he , uttered an exclamation of surprise, and this was succeeded ny a grunt when she said:

"Don't wake him. Carrv him up to the little Blue Room.-' The well-trained menial obeyed, but it was well his mistress did not hear his comments in the servants' hall upon the duty he had been called upon to perform. So Merlin of Rotlicrhbhe became an inmate of Wyehden Hall.

The house happened to lie without visitors. As a rule Miss Eunice loved to fill her house, ami always wiih viitors of a kind to whom sojourn in a I beautiful house amidst, pure air and pleasant scenery was a real treat. Poor relations, neighbours who were not well off, ohl schoolfellows, came in relays. and if once they came, and behaved themselves, were always asked again. After dinner, wiien Merlin was sound asleep in lied, Miss Eunice drew her chair up 10 the fire and fell into deep thought. Of course the boy was the cerrtral figure, but next to his individuality came his name.

"It's very, very strange!'-' muttered Miss Eunice more' than once. Then she rose, went to an escritoire, unlocked a secret drawer, and took therefrom a bundle of letters, yellow with age, much stained by handling, bound up in faded blue ribbon.

She reatl each one through, until she came to the last. This was tied up \ljtll black ribbon, and she replaced it unread with the others. Every letter was signed "Merlin."

About a week after the removal of Merlin from his native place, at six o'clock on a November evening, a man pushed through the swing door of the Swallow Galley public-house in Rotherliithe. He did not walk up to the HHr, but stood looking as if expecting to see somebody. His expectation not lieing fulfilled, he explored each of his pockets in search of a coin, but finding none, pulled out a clay pipe, examined

it, lit it, ami leant against the compartment. Want, dissipation, and blackguardism were stamped all over liiin from the crown of his battered billycock to where the toccap should have been on Ills worn-out boots, and all was accentuated by a certain refinement about his features, and liy the shape of his hands, which spoke of hint plainly as a social wreck.

He puffed away a« long as the fewashes in his pipe held out; just when it was ail its last gasp tac swing doors were pushed violently open, anil in rolled a big man of llo'rid face, dressed in what htiij once been a loud cheek suit, with an eipiinsiveiiess of shirt front and a profusion of stud and watch chain which proclaimed unreality.

"Ha, Rroome !" he exclaimed, "that's right, old chap. Punctuality's the soul of business, (ibid to tiee you !" liroome did not reciprocate warmly, but he eagerly accepted the oll'er of'a drink which lie would have -tilped down standing had not the neiv-iomer led him to a quiet corner where there was n table and a seat. "Well ! How's things T asked ihe florid man. "As bad as thev can be.'' was the reply. , "Well—what's being going wrong ';" J "Starvation and—and murder,' replied liroome, suddenly.

[ "Awkward customers; •.specially the last." said the llorid man, taking a bigcigar from his waist-coat pocket, rolling his tongue round it, and lighting it. "How did that come ajiout ?"

"Drink," said Broome, emptying his glass. His companion had it refilled. Then he said : ''Who's corpscd ?" ''Jiy kid," replied Broome ; "copped him on the head and left him for dead. When I came back he wasn't to be found, and hasn't been seen since." "Then he's all right, and you've a mouth less to feed. So much" for tha murder. Now then for ike starvation. How's that V

"I've told you. Drink. Nothing has passed my lips except this liquor since six o'clock this morning. That's twelve hours."

"That's bad," said his friend ; ''can't do business on an empty stomach, and —l've come on business."

The look which Broome gave, the sneaker after these last words was that which a dog sometimes gives his master, a pleading, half-frightened, don't-ask-too-inuch-of-me sort of look.

The florid man rose, worn to the bar, and returned with bread, meat -.and pickles, which ho placed before Broome. Broome glared hungrily at the food, hesitated, but the pangs of nature were stronger than an apparent disinclination to accept what was meant as priming for evil work, and he foil to wuh avidity, the florid man watching him through the smoke of his cigar. When he had cleared the plates, and bad partaken of more liquor, his companion handed him the twin of the cigar which struck up at an angle from the extreme corner of his own mouth, and said :

"Now then to (business." "Yes, yes—now then to business," repealed Broome unemotionally. "I've a job on hand, and you must help me," said his friend ; ""oue of the very nicest jobs we've had for a long time; quiet, highly respectable, and most remunerative most remunerative."

"What kind ?" asked Broome. "Your particular Kind. Barbadoes kind without—without the knifing—" "Shut up, 1 tell you!" hissed Broome. "No, I won't shut up. Broome, you're a slippery fellow, and I don't mean to let you go. I've got such a hold on you as few men have over others, for if 1 choose I could have you run in tomorrow on the charge "of murdering •lohn tVey, black man, near Hastings, Barbadoes, upon your own written confession."

"1 did it in self-defence, you cur \" growled Broome.

"Yes, when you'd broken into a man's bungalow, and were in danger of being nabbed. I think 1 see the intelligent juryman admitting that .sort of a plea, and also the intelligent British Beak- "

"0 shut up ! Now then, wind's the game? I don't much care what I'm lup to. I've done for that poor little : chap—l've done for him, and 1 may as well swing for a potuul as for a pc'niiv. But, by Heaven, I'd give sOnie.hing to fee you swing first,"

"No doubt. No doubt. But drink on an empty stomach has deranged your system. Come, let's to ■business. Here's a plan."

Merlin of Rotherhithe nourished exceedingly. For some days lie appeared not to be able to shake oil' the impression that his happino-s was of but a transient character, and that nt any moment he was liable to be hailed oil' from this delicious life! to the piggery in Sweet Apple Lane, Rotherhitln/"; but as the days grew into weeks, ami he found that he was not wanted in E-ith-erhithe, he breathed ireclv.

Miss Eunice allowed him to run wild for a week or so. The world was new to the child. Who,, the first burst of his wonder had toned l'own, .Miss Kimice took him thoroughly in hand, and devoted herself not so much to bis learning as to his unlearning. Never had teacher more willing and more ready pupil. Never bad pupil mure patient and painstaking teacher. .So the feeling between the old niaiil of sixty and the liUic cockney arali of eight became not the feeling' between mispress and pupil, Init of a nearer and wanner nature, mid people marvelled gi'eatlv thereal, as Miss I'lunice, with all her virtues, was not particularly fond of children.

One afternoon Miss Eunice had sent Merlin into the village upon an errand which should have occupied him some tune. To her surprise, however, lie came running back in less than ten minutes, with a face upon which extreme terror was very palpablv expressed.

"Oh, Miss t'overdale ! Miss (Joverdale !" he cried. "Jton't give me up ' I don't want to go back ! I'm so happy here, anil I love you so. and I do try to be good !" "Oracioiis goodness alive :'' exclaim, ed the old lady, "w'aafs ailing the chili v Whoever talked of giving you up as you call it V

"I've seen father;' blubbered Merlin "and 1 know he's come to take me aaway."

"Oh, you've seen your father, have you 1" saM Miss Eunice, quite ■ leralv ior her. "i. should like to see him and tell him what 1 think of him. Where did you see him :'-'

'lie was going into tac '(Jeorge,' whispered .Merlin. •■Jle didn't see me, I know lie's come for me. and he and Mr Bootums." "-Mr who •/■• "Mr Boot urns. A friend of father's, and used to get drunk with him." "Tut! Tut ! in i.ootuiu him if he comes this way. Dona ~, afl , |i(| in, 1 won t give you up, not for all the fathers and the .Mr i„ the world."

Ky which as-uramv Berlin was ,owoWhat comforted, although durim. the remainder of ihe ,| ;l .y „e , va . s lln .° sv jn manner, for he sulrted at cvcrv footstep on the gravel path, and llt ~v c, n - ring ring at the hell, and not even Miss )'iin.ee could persuade him to pav his ~s-ua ua evening visit to the rabbits al the lodge gate.

Mtime and its approaci, was a par t.cularly solemn part of the dav -it y.yehdeu Jlall. At ,„„ milmt ,. < t ,; Miss tun.ee rang tiie bell for prayers. .-I the servants attended, or ,if thev did not, Miss Eunice h,, a to kniw th ' e kmsoii liieii came a procession with Uw plate dies, upstairs, for Mi-s Eunice had very sufficient reasons for not uelieving m • butlers' pantries ; her plate was old and valuable, and she would not have slept a wink if she knew it was anywhere else but under her bedL After (his, Miss Eunice and the tall footman made au inspection of doors and windows, and then silence and darkness reigned supreme. _ Merlin W ent to bed at eight o'clock 111 the same little room to which 4nthony had carried him upon the evening ot us Ihvt arrival, a pleasant room looking over the lawn in front of the house, and. as it was in a win" commanding a view of the main road b»yond the gales. As a rule lie fell asleep within a few minutes of his placing his held upon the pillow. liui on the night of his alarm be was wide awakc.

Jt was a bright, moonlight night; so bright that the branches of the big fir

jtvee outside cast a solemnly waving shadow ou (ho wall which reminded him of (he plumes at a lirscclas- Strutlon jUnninJ funeral. t lie heard nine o'clock, (hen tell o''clock, st'rik. He heard the passage oi [the servants to prayers, lie heard Hiss Eunice's clear voice ."ailing tiie miracle |of the loaves anil, lb,' IMies. lie heard the bolting and the chaining up of the Ihall-door which alwavs reminded liiin of the stories he had 'heard about ensile 'gates. 'Chen came the last sound of the day—the shutting, locking, and douhle:locking of .Miss Eunice's door. Then 'all was silence within the great house, house. i Twelve o'clock struck, and .Merlin :was on the point of dozing oil to -Icep '.when he heard a sharp click, as if the Hatch of his window were heing lifted. ! an.l. opening his eyes, saw that the ifunercal pattern of the wall was blott,ed out liy the distinct outline of a man's head and body.

He was far too frightened to cry, or oven to hide his head under the' bedclothes, su he liy, hardly brca.hing, with the perspiration breaking Out on ■hi- hands and forehead, and his heart thumping fast and hard.

The window was quietly thrown up and the man entered the' room. Then •Merlin was aware of a blinding light Itasli.'d in his face ; and a voice he knew 100 well said to the owner of a head and shoulders which now appeared at the window :

"There's a kid here, and he's awake!" "Knock his blooming little head in," was the amiable reply.

.Merlin heard it ; desperation loosened his tongue and he said : "Father ! Don't hurt nie ! If you want me, I'll go with you. But don't [let .Miss Coverdalc hear us !"'

Broome dropped the lantern on (he bed and it went out.

".My God !''■ he ■pxtelainyd. "WhyMerlin ! My boy Merlin ! And wliat did you say about Miss Coverdale 1" "This is her liouse, father," replied Merlin. "And she is so kind to me) and she brought me here." The other man wa.i standing by. "What's all this V he said hurriedly. "Now then, Broome, quick's the word. We've no time to lose. And look here, you young " "Bootums," said Merlin's father, "I'm not goig a step further. This is my boy, whom I thought I had killed, and this is the house of a lady whom v -1 once know very well, j\io, not a situ further ! Back, I say !'• "What !" hissed his companion. "Because you've found your blessed kid here, you've going to chuck me over like this! Not you ! And i£ you don't move, I will 1"

tic made a step towards tiio door, but Broome.barred his passage. "Look here, Bootums,' said Broome, "I mean what 1 say. If it was only because she's taken care of my kid I'd i prevent any harm being done her if i could."

Merlin sat up. Hitherto he was under the impression tluu the sole oliject of this nocturnal visit was to take him away, but his father's last words opened his eyes to the fact that his good benefactress and not he was the object of the visit. Bootums advanced towards Broome, and with a hideous oatii grappled whh him.

Merlin at this moment uttered piercing cries for help. Bootums hurled Broome to the ground, mid the terrified boy saw him strike the fallen man a couple of heavy blows whh something which flasluvl in the moonlight, run to the window, climb through it and disappear. In a few minutes the house was in an uproar. Miss Eunice came in with a candle in one hand and a poker in the other at the head of the shuddering, ■whispering servants—ahead even of the tall footman.

"What's the matter, Merlin ?" alio asked, calmlv.

Merlin, sobbing and crvinjr, pointed |to his father lying ou the floor, a heavy 'crowbar by his Mde.

"Who is this ? What has happened? Who has done this V" asked Hiss Eunice.

•'.My father!" whispered aiorlin. •killed dead by Mr Bootums.' -

-Miss Eunice placed the candl,. on the door, knell down by the fallen man. ami raised his head.' The tall footman and ihe oilier f ervanis kept their distance.

"Oct some water, quick !" said Miss Eunice. "_\'ol that it can (16 him much good." she added, for silo road his fate in his face.

lie still breathed, but iho blood was still streaming from two terrible wounds. The water ho drank eagerly ; his eyes opened, and re-ted on J|WEunice's face.

"Eunice t'overdale !'' h- said. -Miss Eunice started in the voic: "Who are you ?•> she asked.

"AJcrlm JJroome," replied the dyini man, faintly. "J)o you remember—thirty years ago—thirty years ago— W'Vre's—Where's my ' boy y_ you have saved hjin. ' Eunice ! l" am punWud for the terrible wrong I did —Oh, iny head ! Mv head !'

They placed him gently on the bed, I but he was never conscious :i":iiii and (lied with his hand fast clasped 'over that of the woman lie had loved and so basely deserted lon-, years aw.

All that (he servan,s know about Hie matter was Unit the man who had met With so terrible a death in little m nr . lin's room had been long ago a friend ■c! their mistress, and that lrnoefortl, the child seemed to be all in all to her When he. was of an ago to undersand such things, Miss Eunice showed hnn the romance of her youm* life n „ i showed him U,e letter tied up in'the black ribbon. It was simply this • Goodbye, Eunice. I am not worthy of you. Another woman is ~.y fine. Try to forget me. arerlin.