The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel

CHAPTER XV

Mrs. Chester's recommendation to Seth Dumbrick to give the Duchess and Sally a day in the country was weighing heavily upon his mind. That it would do the Duchess good there could not be a shadow of doubt, and it was certain that she required a change of some sort; for although she was now better and moving about, her steps were languid, and there were no signs of a return to her old elasticity of spirits. Day after day Seth watched in vain for symptoms of vigour in the Duchess, and the more he watched, the more he was troubled.

"She's well," he said to the doctor, "but she doesn't get strong."

"She wants iron," said the doctor; and he gave her iron, but it did not improve her. Then the doctor said that the child wanted fresh air.

"Can I get it in bottles?" asked Seth, with melancholy humour.

The doctor smiled and walked away.

Seth Dumbrick was afraid to mention the matter to the Duchess, for he knew that she would leap for joy at the prospect, and that the hope deferred would make her worse both in body and spirits. The truth was, he was too poor for the luxury. The Duchess's illness had exhausted every penny of his savings. He confided in Sally, who entered at once upon the consideration of the difficulty, but her suggestions were not of a practical character.

"If we had some o' them cherubims o' gold," she mused, "or some o' them gold flowers out of the Temple-"

"They might lead us," added Seth, "to the real flowers we want to see growing."

Sally was ready with another suggestion, in the shape of a subscription among the Duchess's playmates.

"They're so fond on her that they'll do anythink for her. They'll all give. Betsy Newbiggin, and Jane Preedy-" but she was stopped by the look of suppressed merriment on Seth's face.

"Pins and spoonfuls of liquorice-water won't take us into the country, Sally. No, we must think of something else. Perhaps I shall have a bit of good luck" – adding, under his breath-"if I do, and there's money in it, it'll be the first bit of good luck that has ever fell to Seth Dumbrick's lot."

There seemed no way out of the difficulty, and the Duchess remained in the same languid state. But the bit of good luck that Seth had not the slightest expectation of meeting with did occur, and in a strange way.

The duties of the postman in Rosemary Lane were light, and there were persons in the neighbourhood who had never arrived at the dignity of receiving a letter. Certainly no child had ever received one. General astonishment was therefore created when it became known that the postman, stopping to deliver a communication at the Royal George, the celebrated gin-palace of the locality, had produced a letter, addressed to "The Duchess of Rosemary Lane," and, with an air which proclaimed that he looked upon the matter as a joke, had asked the proprietor of the gin-palace if he knew any person answering to that description. Regarding the matter in a more serious light when he was informed that there really was such a person in existence, the postman proceeded to Seth Dumbrick's stall, and delivered the letter in the presence of a dozen or so curiousmongers, who had became aware of the circumstance, and considered it sufficiently interesting to warrant an inquiry. The postman, with a stern sense of duty, did not part with the letter too easily. It was a Government affair, he said, and he might be called over the coals for it. Indeed, under any circumstances, he declared his intention of making a special memorandum with reference to it, for his own satisfaction and that of the head of his department. The idea of a duchess in Rosemary Lane was something almost too astounding for credibility.

"Nevertheless it is a fact," said Seth Dumbrick, looking at the letter with much inward astonishment; not knowing what the letter might contain, he deemed it prudent to conceal any exhibition of this feeling. "She lives with me."

"If you're her father, I suppose you call yourself a duke."

"I'm her guardian, and I call myself a cobbler."

The postman was aware that such a conversation was outside the scope of his duties, but he was fond of gossip and banter.

"I'd like to see this Duchess."

"Duchess!" called Seth, down the stairs.

Up came the Duchess, accompanied by Sally.

"What's your name?" asked the postman.

"The Duchess of Rosemary Lane," replied the Duchess.

"And upon my word," remarked the postman, "she looks like a little lady." He could not help admiring her; he had a little girl of his own at home.

"She is one," said Sally, promptly.

The postman having departed, Seth, with the letter on his leather apron, fell into a brown study. It had suddenly occurred to him that it might contain unwelcome intelligence; perhaps it came from some person who claimed the child. In that case, would it not be better for him to destroy it without reading it? Sally, aware from the expression on Seth's face-a book in which she was by this time deeply read-that he was revolving an important consideration with reference to the letter, was in a fever of excitement. So, in a less degree, were the neighbours surrounding the stall.

"Open it, Mr. Dumbrick," said Mrs. Preedy, who was always one in a Rosemary Lane crowd. There are in every neighbourhood two or three women ordained to fulfil this special mission. "Open it, and let's know what's inside."

Seth, recalled to himself by this polite request, looked up with shrewd twinkles, and replied:

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Preedy, but this is a private matter between the Duchess and the Queen, and to let you into the secret'd be more than my head's worth. Let's go downstairs, Duchess, and see what her Majesty has to say to you."

"He's the selfishest man," said Mrs. Preedy, "is that Mr. Dumbrick, as ever I clapped eyes on-keeping things to hisself in that way! It's a good job he ain't married; he'd torment the soul out of a poor woman."

Meanwhile, this selfishest of men was sitting in his cellar, with the Duchess on his knee.

"Duchess," he said, in a tone which denoted that he wished to engage her serious attention, "this is a most unexpected and mysterious occurrence. Since I've been in Rosemary Lane, I've received altogether three letters-about one every ten years-and here you are at your age beginning to bother the Post Office. You're commencing early, Duchess."

The Duchess nodded languidly. The letter, not being something nice to eat, was of no interest to her.

"The question is," continued Seth, who seemed to have lost for the time his decision of character, "what is in this letter, and who sent it? It's a good handwriting, and there can't be any mistake about its being for you."

"Open it, Daddy," said Sally.

"There's no hurry, Sally. Don't let us meet trouble halfway. Duchess, do you love Daddy Dumbrick?"

"Oh, yes," sighed the Duchess, closing her eyes, and leaning back in Seth's arms.

"You don't want to leave him?"

"No," murmured the Duchess.

"Because you see, Sally, the world'd seem a different place to me, not half so good as it was, if anything was to occur as'd take the Duchess away from us."

"No one shall," cried Sally, beginning to share Seth's fears, "no one can!"

"I don't know that," said Seth, with an apprehensive observance of the letter; "they sha'n't if I can help it. If I had plenty of money, which I haven't, you, me, and the Duchess'd steal away one night from Rosemary Lane, and'd go and live in the country, where nobody'd know us, and where we could see green fields and flowers, and breathe the fresh air from morning to night. For that's what our precious wants. Green fields and fresh air'd soon pull her round, and we'd live there happily all our lives."

"Like gipsies, Daddy."

"Yes, Sal, like gipsies."

"That would be nice," said Sally; adding wistfully, "but it can't be, Daddy, can it?"

"No, it can't be, unless a shower of gold was to come down through the ceiling-and that's not likely. Let's see what's in the letter."

Had he suspected it to contain gunpowder he could not have broken the seal more timidly. It was a letter without an envelope, folded in the old-fashioned way, and when it was opened, a thin paper enclosure fluttered to the ground. In his anxiety Seth did not notice what had escaped, and he turned the letter this way and that, without meeting with any writing but the address. Singular as it was, he experienced a feeling of relief at this dispersal of his fears.

"Here's something dropped, Daddy," said Sally, in a tone made almost gay by the change of expression in Seth's countenance.

Seth took the enclosure from Sally's hands. It was a Bank of England note for ten pounds.

"Why, it's money!" he exclaimed.

"Money!" cried Sally.

"Yes, Sally, money." He glanced up at the ceiling with an air of comical wonder. "We're in Tom Tiddler's ground, Sally."

"No, no," cried Sally, clapping her hands in glee, "it didn't drop from there. It dropped out of the letter."

"That's more wonderful, then, than all the rest put together. Out of the letter! There's not a letter in the letter, Sal-not one, from A to Z." He laughed aloud, and Sally laughed in sympathy. "I don't care where this comes from, nor why it has come. What I know is, it's the brightest bit of good luck that ever happened to a man. This piece of paper's a looking-glass, my child. Look at it-what do you see in it?"

Literal Sally, looking at the bank-note, as Seth held it open before her, began at the beginning.

"There's a picture of a lady with a wand in her hand-"

"Britannia ruling the waves. Is that all you can see in it?"

"No; there's-what funny letters, Daddy! I never saw any like 'em before. There's B-a-n-k, Bank-"

Seth took up the word, and read the note from beginning to end, and then repeated his question, "Is that a l you can see in it?"

"That's all, Daddy."

"Sally, I'm cleverer than you. I take the note, and put it before me like this- Stop a minute." The Duchess had fallen asleep in his arms, and he placed her gently on the bed. "Now we can get along. I look at the note like this, and I see-yes, I see a coach, with you and me and the Duchess sitting on the top of it."

"O Daddy!"

"Here we go, driving into the country. Such a ride, Sally! I see green fields and flowers and fresh air for our darling in it-"

It was with difficulty that Sally kept herself still to hear the rest.

"I see two weeks of green fields and fresh air for our darling in it. And I'm not quite sure that I don't see the sea. Do I see the waves creeping up, Sally?"

"I don't know-oh, do you see 'em, Daddy, do you?"

"It's got a little bit cloudy about here" – tracing an imaginary line with his finger-"but it'll clear up soon. And, Sally, I see something still better in it. I see roses for our Duchess's cheeks in it, sparkles for her eyes, lightness for her foot. Kiss the note, Sally. I never thought I should come to worship Mammon, but I do worship him now, with all my heart."

"Daddy," said Sally, struck with a sudden fear, "is it a good un?"

The alarming suggestion caused Seth to run out of the place, as though he were running for his life, and this display of excitement on his part was so novel that the neighbours who were still waiting in the street for news concerning the letter came, first to the usual conclusion that the house was on fire, and next to the more appetising one that Seth Dumbrick had suddenly gone mad. He was a long time absent, for it was no easy matter to get a ten-pound note changed in Rosemary Lane. There were hundreds who had never seen such a thing, and to whom a sight of it would have been an eighth wonder of the world. At the end of an hour Seth returned in a calmer mood, with a fistful of gold, which he let fall, piece by piece, on the table, before Sally's wondering eyes. She, who never experienced a pleasure, new or old, without desiring that her idol should share it, caught up the Duchess, crying: "Look, Duchess, look!" The Duchess stretched forth her hand with eager delight, and the children sat close to the table, playing gleefully with the bright pieces, Seth standing at their back, looking at them and at the gold, with one hand resting on the Duchess's shoulder, and the other rasping his chin. His declaration that he did not care where the money came from was not ingenious. If he had wished, he could not have banished so singular an adventure from his mind, and the more he thought of it the more it puzzled him. He had no friend who was likely or able to commit an action so quixotic; neither had Sally. Turning his attention to the letter again, he held it up to the light and peered closely at it, in the endeavour to discover a clue. Then it came into his mind that there was a kind of colourless ink with which persons wishing to communicate secretly could write, and which heat alone would render visible, and he placed the paper to the fire without arriving at any satisfactory result. He could not detect even the scratch of a pen. It was the most unsolvable of riddles. "I am afraid I must give it up," he said to himself, but he could not give it up. With the subject still in his mind, he ascended to his stall to finish some work he had in hand before he started on the contemplated holiday. During his work, a hundred ingenious theories started up, all to be dismissed but one, which took strong possession of him. "Some rich person," he thought, "perhaps a lady who once had a pretty child, that she was ashamed to call her own, has seen the Duchess by chance, and has fallen in love with her beautiful face, because it reminds her of old days. Then she finds out the Duchess's name; then she discovers that the Duchess has been ill; and then she sends a present of money in this mysterious way." The sentiment attaching to this fanciful speculation rendered it peculiarly attractive to Seth. "We'll put it down to that," he mused; "stranger things have happened in the world." So he put it down to "that," and produced some pleasant mental pictures out of the fancy.

When the midday meal was over, he said, "Duchess, this money's for you. It's been sent because you've got a pretty face, and pretty hands, and bright eyes. And it's going to take us into the country, where the flowers are all a-growing and a-blowing, and where you'll get strong and lively again."

"Then it will come true," cried Sally, "what you saw in the ten-pound note!"

"It will come true, Sally, if we're alive to-morrow." An ecstatic silence followed, broken by Sally.

"Then you know who sent the money, Daddy!"

"It was sent by a lady-as handsome a lady as ever you clapped eyes on, Sally."

"And you've seen her?"

"Well-hum! – yes, I've seen her." And here Seth rubbed his forehead, denoting that he meant he had seen her in his mind's eye-a salve to his conscience.

"Where does she live?" asked Sally, whom it was difficult to stop, when she commenced to make inquiries on an interesting theme.

"She lives in-hum! – in Fairyland."

"Oh, where's that?"

"Don't ask any more questions. You'll see a bit of it to-morrow."

CHAPTER XVI

The following day a sensation was created in Rosemary Lane by the circumstance of Seth Dumbrick's stall being closed, and by a written notice pasted outside, to the effect that he might be expected to return in the course of two or three weeks.

"From the day as Seth Dumbrick give that party to the children," said Mrs. Preedy, holding forth in front of the cellar to a knot of eager listeners, "down in that cellar" – with finger ominously pointing-"from that day I begun to suspect him, and to feel sure as there was something wrong I says to him on that very day, Strange things is often done down in cellars,' says I; and then I told him that I wouldn't let my Jane go to his party unless I were invited, no, not if he filled my apron with diamings. 'Perhaps,' says I, with mind full of misbegivings, 'perhaps you've got ghosts and skiletons down in your cellar, Mr. Dumbrick;' and as true as I'm a living woman, he says to me upon that, 'My cellar is full of ghosts, Mrs. Preedy,' says he; 'my cellar is full of ghosts,' he says."

This narrative imparted a more intense interest to the position of affairs, and imagination ran riot on the contents of the cellar, which became gradually filled with the bones and limbs of murdered persons-Seth Dumbrick's victims, who had been artfully decoyed down the steps and made away with.

"And it shows the wickedness of mankind," said one woman, especially disposed to the horrible, "to think of the way he's kept it secret all this time."

Other imaginative phases relating to Sally and the Duchess, who were pictured as being either murdered or chained to the wall and left to starve, soon became popular; and ears were pressed to the shutters to catch the groans of the children.

"I can hear something!" cried Mrs. Preedy; which instantly caused the knot of women to declare that, for humanity's sake, the cellar should be broken into and the children rescued. Whether they would have proceeded to this extremity is not certain, and perhaps it was fortunate that the form of Dr. Lyon was at that moment seen approaching them.

"O doctor! O doctor!" cried Mrs. Preedy; and stood before him, pressing her sides, and gasping for breath in her agitation.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Preedy?" asked the doctor. "Spasms?"

"No, sir; oh! no, sir," she replied, still palpitating. "The children! the children!"

"What children?"

"Our beautiful Duchess, sir, and Sally, that we're all so fond on!"

"Well?"

"Down there, sir! Murdered! I heard a groan jest as you come up."

"Which proves," said the doctor, realising the position of affairs, "that they can't be murdered. Mrs. Preedy, do you read your Bible?"

"I hope so, sir, I'm sure," answered Mrs. Preedy in a tone of virtuous injury.

"I hope so too. Do you forget what it says? 'Do unto others as you would others should do unto you.' Seth Dumbrick has gone into the country with the children, for the sake of the Duchess, who needs fresh air to bring her back to health. And here's the key of his place, which he left with me early this morning. Let me give you a piece of advice, Mrs. Preedy."

"I shall be very grateful, sir, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Preedy, trembling, not knowing what trouble she might have brought upon herself.

"Go home, then," said the doctor in a grave tone, "and for the future attend more to your own affairs and less to other people's. In plainer words, mind your own business."

"Well, I'm sure!" gasped Mrs. Preedy, as Dr. Lyon stalked away. But she obtained no sympathy from her neighbours, who were only too ready to lay the blame on some one, and who, with justice-for she was the most zealous scandalmonger in Rosemary Lane-laid it upon Mrs. Preedy's shoulders. So that for once the right scapegoat suffered. Mrs. Preedy went home in an oppressed state of mind, a sadder if not a wiser woman; and the neighbours generally, to show how guiltless they were, became enthusiastic in their praises of Seth Dumbrick; though it must be confessed they bore him in their hearts a little grudge for having disappointed them of a grand and awful sensation.

In the meantime, unconscious of the excitement he had created, Seth Dumbrick, with the Duchess and Sally by his side, was sitting on the top of an empty wagon returning to the country, with the driver of which he had bargained for the ride.

It was a fine day, and the delight of the children was unbounded. The fresh air, the clear atmosphere, the dreamy clouds, the beautiful fields, were revelations to them. Occasionally they passed an estate, stone-walled from vulgar eyes, over which, being seated at such an elevation, they could see into the carefully-tended gardens and orchards; and more frequently they passed the prettiest of gardens belonging to humbler folk, the colour and beauty of which were as lovely and charming as Nature could produce, to gladden heart and eye. The driver of the wagon was in no hurry; he had some sixty miles to go, and he worked for no hard taskmaster; he was an old man, and merciful to his cattle, having a love for them, as could easily be seen-all of which circumstances were as precious as gold to the holiday-seekers, for it gave them leisure to see and enjoy. The wagon was a new wagon, of which Seth made joyous capital, saying it had been built especially for them to ride in on this brightest of all bright days. Overhearing the remark, the driver said that that was a likely thing, too, for things happened pretty much as they were ordained to happen-leastways, that was his experience; and said it as though he had high authority for the doctrine. The bells on the harness supplied the music, varying most delightfully according to the pace; for, to please the children, the old driver occasionally smartened the horses into a trot, which they appeared to enjoy as much as they enjoyed the leisurely amble with which they traversed the greater part of the road. He was a kindly old fellow, with a face like a ribstone pippin, and with hands as hard and brown as knotted oak-hands which could be soft and gentle, also, and were, when he pinched the cheek of the Duchess. She, always susceptible to fondling and caressing, looked into the old man's face and smiled, so winsomely as to make him pensive.

"Yours?" he inquired of Seth Dumbrick.

"No," replied Seth, in a low tone, so that the children should not hear; "not exactly. I've adopted her. An orphan."

"Ah!" said the driver; "then she's yours;" glancing at Sally.

"No, I've no children of my own."

"Never been married?"

"No. You're a family man, I can see."

"Thirteen of 'em;" adding, in response to the look of astonishment on Seth's face, "Not too many, not one too many."

"Are they all at home?" asked Seth.

"No; they're here and there;" with a wave of his hands cloudwards, sufficiently comprehensive to denote that his brood were scattered over the face of the earth. "We're a travelling family, you see. I've been a wagoner ever since I was a lad. My youngsters took after me, and travelled further-two to America, one to China, one to Australia; and another" – this with a wistful look into the clouds, yearningly eager to fix the spot-"God knows where. But," he added, with a brighter air, "they're all doing well, most of 'em. I've no occasion to work, but I couldn't live without a whip. I'd like to die with one in my hand. Then, I love the English roads. You're fond of 'em, too, I can see."

"They are very beautiful," said Seth, "to us especially, who see but little of 'em. I haven't been out of London for fifteen years. And this little girl" – with a kindly pressure of Sally's arm-"has never in her life seen the country till now."

Sally's eyes sparkled a rapturous confirmation. This holiday was, indeed, a revelation to her soul; she saw beauty of which she had hitherto had no knowledge or comprehension; and as she sat on the wagon, with one arm fondly caressing the Duchess, whose head was lying on her bosom, she wished that she and those she loved could go jogging along in this way for ever and ever.