The Mystery of a Hansom Cab by Fergus Hume (reading diary TXT) đ
- Author: Fergus Hume
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âNone of this,â he said, sharply, taking Lizer by one thin shoulder, and pushing her over to where the other girl was crouching; âstop there till I tell you to move.â
Lizer tossed back her tangled black hair, and was about to make some impudent reply, when the other girl, who was older and wiser, put out her hand, and pulled her down beside her.
Meanwhile, Calton was addressing himself to the old woman in the corner.
âYou wanted to see me?â he said gently, for, notwithstanding his repugnance to her, she was, after all, a woman, and dying.
âYes, cuss ye,â croaked Mother Guttersnipe, lying down, and pulling the greasy bedclothes up to her neck. âYou ainât a parson?â with sudden suspicion.
âNo, I am a lawyer.â
âI ainât a-goinâ to have the cussed parsons a-prowlinâ round âere,â growled the old woman, viciously. âI ainât a-goinâ to die yet, cuss ye; Iâm goinâ to get well anâ strong, anâ âave a good time of it.â
âIâm afraid you wonât recover,â said Calton, gently. âYou had better let me send for a doctor.â
âNo, I shanât,â retorted the hag, aiming a blow at him with all her feeble strength. âI ainât a-goinâ to have my inside spilâd with salts and senner. I donât want neither parsons nor doctors, I donât. I wouldnât âave a lawyer, only Iâm a-thinkinâ of makinâ my will, I am.â
âMind I gits the watch,â yelled Lizer, from the corner. âIf you gives it to Sal Iâll tear her eyes out.â
âSilence!â said Kilsip, sharply, and, with a muttered curse, Lizer sat back in her corner.
âSharper than a serpentâs tooth, she are,â whined the old woman, when quiet was once more restored. âThat young devil âave fed at my âome, anâ now she turns, cuss her.â
âWellâwell,â said Calton, rather impatiently, âwhat is it you wanted to see me about?â
âDonât be in such a âurry,â said the hag, with a scowl, âor Iâm blamed if I tell you anything, sâelp me.â
She was evidently growing very weak, so Calton turned to Kilsip and told him in a whisper to get a doctor. The detective scribbled a note on some paper, and, giving it to Lizer, ordered her to take it. At this, the other girl arose, and, putting her arm in that of the childâs, they left together.
âThem two young âusseys gone?â said Mother Guttersnipe. âRight you are, for I donât want what Iâve got to tell to git into the noospaper, I donât.â
âAnd what is it?â asked Calton, bending forward.
The old woman took another drink of gin, and it seemed to put life into her, for she sat up in the bed, and commenced to talk rapidly, as though she were afraid of dying before her secret was told.
âYouâve been âere afore?â she said, pointing one skinny finger at Calton, âand you wanted to find out all about âer; but you didnât. She wouldnât let me tell, for she was always a proud jade, a-flouncinâ round while âer pore mother was a-starvinâ.â
âHer mother! Are you Rosanna Mooreâs mother?â cried Calton, considerably astonished.
âMay I die if I ainât,â croaked the hag. ââEr pore father died of drink, cuss âim, anâ Iâm a-follerinâ âim to the same place in the same way. You werenât about town in the old days, or youâd a-bin after her, cuss ye.â
âAfter Rosanna?â
âThe werry girl,â answered Mother Guttersnipe. âShe were on the stage, she were, anâ my eye, what a swell she were, with all the coves a-dyinâ for âer, anâ she dancinâ over their black âearts, cuss âem; but she was allays good to me till âe came.â
âWho came?â
ââE!â yelled the old woman, raising herself on her arm, her eyes sparkling with vindictive fury. ââE, a-cominâ round with diâmonds and gold, and a-ruininâ my pore girl; anâ how âeâs âeld âis bloominâ âead up all these years as if he were a saint, cuss âimâcuss âim.â
âWhom does she mean?â whispered Calton to Kilsip.
âMean!â screamed Mother Guttersnipe, whose sharp ears had caught the muttered question. âWhy, Mark Frettlby!â
âGood God!â Calton rose up in his astonishment, and even Kilsipâs inscrutable countenance displayed some surprise.
âAye, âe were a swell in them days,â pursued Mother Guttersnipe, âand âe comes a-philanderinâ round my gal, cuss âim, anâ ruins âer, and leaves âer anâ the child to starve, like a black-âearted villain as âe were.â
âThe child! Her name?â
âBah,â retorted the hag, with scorn, âas if you didnât know my granâdaughter Sal.â
âSal, Mark Frettlbyâs child?â
âYes, anâ as pretty a girl as the other, thoâ she âappened to be born on the wrong side of the âedge. Oh, Iâve seen âer a-sweepinâ along in âer silks anâ satins as thoâ we were dirtâanâ Sal âer âalf sisterâcuss âer.â
Exhausted by the efforts she had made, the old woman sank back in her bed, while Calton sat dazed, thinking over the astounding revelation that had just been made. That Rosanna Moore should turn out to be Mark Frettlbyâs mistress he hardly wondered at; after all, the millionaire was but a man, and in his young days had been no better and no worse than the rest of his friends. Rosanna Moore was pretty, and was evidently one of those women whoârakes at heartâprefer the untrammelled freedom of being a mistress, to the sedate bondage of a wife. In questions of morality, so many people live in glass houses, that there are few nowadays who can afford to throw stones. Calton did not think any the worse of Frettlby for his youthful follies. But what did surprise him was that Frettlby should be so heartless, as to leave his child to the tender mercies of an old hag like Mother Guttersnipe. It was so entirely different from what he knew of the man, that he was inclined to think that the old woman was playing him a trick.
âDid Mr. Frettlby know Sal was his child?â he asked.
âNot âe,â snarled Mother Guttersnipe, in an exultant tone. ââE thought she was dead, âe did, arter Rosanner gave him the go-by.â
âAnd why did you not tell him?â
ââCause I wanted to break âis âeart, if âe âad any,â said the old beldame, vindictively. âSal was a-goinâ wrong as fast as she could till she was tuk from me. If she had gone and got into quod Iâd âave gone to âim, and said, âLook at yer darter! âOw Iâve ruined her as you did mine.ââ
âYou wicked woman,â said Calton, revolted at the malignity of the scheme. âYou sacrificed an innocent girl for this.â
âNone of yer preachinâ,â retorted the hag sullenly; âI ainât bin brought up for a saint, I ainâtâanâ I wanted to pay âim outââe paid me well to âold my tongue about my darter, anâ Iâve got it âere,â laying her hand on the pillow, âall gold, good goldâanâ mine, cuss me.â
Calton rose, he felt quite sick at this exhibition of human depravity, and longed to be away. As he was putting on his hat, however, the two girls entered with the doctor, who nodded to Kilsip, cast a sharp scrutinising glance at Calton, and then walked over to the bed. The two girls went back to their corner, and waited in silence for the end. Mother Guttersnipe had fallen back in the bed, with one claw-like hand clutching the pillow, as if to protect her beloved gold, and over her face a deadly paleness was spreading, which told the practised eye of the doctor that the end was near. He knelt down beside the bed for a moment, holding the candle to the dying womanâs face. She opened her eyes, and muttered drowsilyâ
âWhoâs you? get out,â but then she seemed to grasp the situation again, and she started up with a shrill yell, which made the hearers shudder, it was so weird and eerie.
âMy money!â she yelled, clasping the pillow in her skinny arms. âItâs all mine, ye shanât have itâcuss ye.â
The doctor arose from his knees, and shrugged his shoulders.
âNot worth while doing anything,â he said coolly, âsheâll be dead soon.â
The old woman, mumbling over her pillow, caught the word, and burst into tears.
âDead! dead! my poor Rosanna, with âer golden âair, always lovinâ âer pore mother till âe took âer away, anâ she came back to dieâdieâooh!â
Her voice died away in a long melancholy wail, that made the two girls in the corner shiver, and put their fingers in their ears.
âMy good woman,â said the doctor, bending over the bed, âwould you not like to see a minister?â
She looked at him with her bright, beady eyes, already somewhat dimmed with the mists of death, and said, in a harsh, low whisperââ Why?â
âBecause you have only a short time to live,â said the doctor, gently. âYou are dying.â
Mother Guttersnipe sprang up, and seized his arm with a scream of terror.
âDyinâ, dyinââno! no!â she wailed, clawing his sleeve. âI ainât fit to dieâcuss me; save meâsave me; I donât know where Iâd go to, sâelp meâsave me.â
The doctor tried to remove her hands, but she held on with wonderful tenacity.
âIt is impossible,â he said briefly.
The hag fell back in her bed.
âIâll give you money to save me,â she shrieked; âgood moneyâall mineâall mine. Seeâseeââereâsuverains,â and tearing her pillow open, she took out a canvas bag, and from it poured a gleaming stream of gold. Goldâgoldâit rolled all over the bed, over the floor, away into the dark corners, yet no one touched it, so enchained were they by the horrible spectacle of the dying woman clinging to life. She clutched some of the shining pieces, and held them up to the three men as they stood silently beside the bed, but her hands trembled so that sovereigns kept falling from them on the floor with metallic clinks.
âAll mineâall mine,â she shrieked, loudly. âGive me my lifeâgoldâmoneyâcuss yeâI sold my soul for itâsave meâgive me my life,â and, with trembling hands, she tried to force the gold on them. They said no word, but stood silently looking at her, while the two girls in the corner clung together, and trembled with fear.
âDonât look at meâdonât,â cried the hag, falling down again amid the shining gold. âYe want me to die,âI shanâtâI shanâtâgive me my gold,â clawing at the scattered sovereigns. âIâll take it with meâI shanât dieâGâGââ whimpering. âI ainât done nothinââlet me liveâgive me a Bibleâsave me, Gâcuss itâGâ, Gâ.â She fell back on the bed, a corpse.
The faint light of the candle flickered on the shining gold, and on the dead face, framed in tangled white hair; while the three men, sick at heart, turned away in silence to seek assistance, with that wild cry still ringing in their earsââGâsave me, Gâ!â
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MARK FRETTLBY HAS A VISITOR.
According to the copy books of our youth, âProcrastination is the thief of time.â Now, Brian found the truth of this. He had been in town almost a week, but he had not yet been to see Calton. Each morningâor something very near itâhe set out, determined to go direct to Chancery Lane, but he never arrived there. He had returned to his lodgings in East Melbourne, and had passed his time either in the house or in the garden. When perhaps business connected with the sale of his station compelled his presence in town, he drove straight there and back. Curiously enough he shrank from meeting any of his friends. He felt keenly his recent position in the prisonerâs dock. And even when walking by the Yarra, as he frequently did, he was conscious of an uneasy feelingâa feeling that he was an object of curiosity, and that people turned to look at him
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