Johnny Ludlow, Third Series. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ what one of our maids told me.”

      “Oh,” I answered, carelessly, for somehow I did not like the words; “you must mean a man that is looking at the land; an engineer.”

      “Is that all?” cried Jane Coney. “How foolish people are!”

      It was a sort of untruth, no doubt; but I should have told a worse in the necessity. I did not like the aspect of things; and they puzzled my brain unpleasantly all the way home.

      Mrs. Todhetley was at work by the window when I got there. Tod had not made his re-appearance; Hugh and Lena were in bed. She dropped her work when I gave the message.

      “Not for some days to come yet! Oh, Johnny!”

      “But what do you want with her?”

      “Well, I do want her. I want a friend just now, Johnny, that’s the truth; and I think Mrs. Coney would be one.”

      “Joe asked if he could help you; and you said ‘No.’ Can I?”

      “Johnny, if you could, there’s no one in the world I’d rather ask. But you cannot.”

      “Why?”

      “Because”—she smiled for a moment—“you are not old enough. If you were—of age, say—why then I would.”

      I had hold of the window-frame, looking at her, and an idea struck me. “Do you mean that I should be able then to command money?”

      “Yes, that’s it, Johnny.”

      “But, perhaps—if I were to write to Mr. Brandon–”

      “Hush!” she exclaimed in a sort of fright. “You must not talk of this, Johnny; you don’t know the sad mischief you might do. Oh, if I can only keep it from you all! Here comes Joseph,” she added in a whisper; and gathering up her work, went out of the room.

      “Did I not make a sign to you to come after me?” began Tod, in one of his tempers.

      “But I had to go over to the Coneys’. I’ve only just got back again.”

      He looked into the room and saw that it was empty. “Where’s madam gone? To the Ravine after her friend?”

      “She was here sewing not a minute ago.”

      “Johnny, she told a lie. Did you notice the sound of her voice when she said the fellow was no relative of hers?”

      “Not particularly.”

      “I did, then. At the moment the denial took me by surprise; but I remembered the tone later. It had an untrue ring in it. Madam told a lie, Johnny, as sure as that we are here. I’d lay my life he is a relative of hers, or a connection in some way. I don’t think now it is money he wants; if it were only that, she’d get it, and send him packing. It’s worse than that: disgrace, perhaps.”

      “What sort of disgrace can it be?”

      “I don’t know. But if something of the sort is not looming, never trust me again. And here am I, with my hands tied, forbidden to unravel it. Johnny, I feel just like a wild beast barred up in a cage.”

      Had he been a real wild beast he could not have given the window-frame a much worse shake, as he passed through in his anger to the bench under the mulberry-tree.

      When you have to look far back to things, recollection sometimes gets puzzled as to the order in which they happened. How it came about I am by no means clear, but an uncomfortable feeling grew up in my mind about Hugh. About both the children, in fact, but Hugh more than Lena. Mrs. Todhetley seemed to dread Hugh’s being abroad—and I’m sure I was not mistaken in thinking it. I heard her order Hannah to keep the children within view of the house, and not to allow Hugh to stray away from her. Had it been winter weather I suppose she’d have kept them indoors altogether; there could be no plea for it under the blue sky and the hot summer sun.

      The Squire came home; he had been staying some time with friends in Gloucestershire; but Mrs. Coney did not come—although Mrs. Todhetley kept sending me for news. Twice I saw her talking to the strange man; who I believed made his abode in the Ravine. Tod watched, as he had threatened to do; and would often appear with in-drawn lips. There was active warfare between him and his step-mother: at least if you can say that when both kept silence. As to the Squire, he observed nothing, and knew nothing: and no one enlightened him. It seems a long time, I dare say, when reading of this, as if it had extended over a month of Sundays; but I don’t think it lasted much more than a fortnight in all.

      One evening, quite late, when the sun was setting, and the Squire was smoking his pipe on the lawn, talking to me and Tod, Lena and her mother came in at the gate. In spite of the red rays lighting up Mrs. Todhetley’s face, it struck me that I had never seen it look more careworn. Lena put her arms on Tod’s knee, and began telling about a fright she had had: of a big toad that leaped out of the grass, and made her scream and cry. She cried “because nobody was with her.”

      “Where was mamma?” asked Tod; but I am sure he spoke without any ulterior thought.

      “Mamma had gone to the zigzag stile to talk to the man. She told me to wait for her.”

      “What man?” cried the Squire.

      “Why, the man,” said Lena logically. “He asks Hugh to go with him over the sea to see the birds and the red coral.”

      If any one face ever turned whiter than another, Mrs. Todhetley’s did then. Tod looked at her, sternly, ungenerously; and her eyes fell. She laid hold of Lena’s hand, saying it was bed-time.

      “What man is the child talking about?” the Squire asked her.

      “She talks about so many people,” rather faintly answered Mrs. Todhetley. “Come, Lena dear; Hannah’s waiting for you. Say good-night.”

      The Squire, quite unsuspicious, thought no more. He got up and walked over to the beds to look at the flowers, holding his long churchwarden pipe in his mouth. Tod put his back against the tree.

      “It is getting complicated, Johnny.”

      “What is?”

      “What is! Why, madam’s drama. She is afraid of that hinted scheme of her friend’s—the carrying-off Master Hugh beyond the seas.”

      He spoke in satire. “Do you think so?” I returned.

      “Upon my honour I do. She must be an idiot! I should like to give her a good fright.”

      “Tod, I think she is frightened enough without our giving her one.”

      “I think she is. She must have caught up the idea from overhearing Hannah’s gossip with old Thomas. This afternoon Hugh was running through the little gate with me; madam came flying over the lawn and begged me not let him out of my hand, or else to leave him indoors. But for being my father’s wife, I should have asked her if her common-sense had gone wool-gathering.”

      “I suppose it has, Tod. Fancy a kidnapper in these days! The curious thing is, that she should fear anything of the sort.”

      “If she really does fear it. I tell you, Johnny, the performance is growing complicated; somewhat puzzling. But I’ll see it played out if I live.”

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