The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ And now, with less fear of encountering Mrs. Godwin than Black Bogey, she feels her way down the dark, narrow staircase, reaches the lower door, unbolts it, and steps out on the path at the back of the house.

      There is still a faint twilight, and this enables her to find her way to the wicket gate opposite Anne Fitch’s cottage. Not a soul is to be seen; and so, with her hood drawn well over her head, she speeds on, and in five minutes reaches my house. Here finding the door fastened, she gives a couple of knocks, and on my opening she asks meekly in a feigned voice, which for the life of me I should not have known for hers, if I am minded to buy a couple of partridges a friend has sent and she has no use for.

      “Partridges!” cries Dawson, from within. “Have ’em, Kit, for your bread and cheese is mighty every-day fare.”

      “Let me see ’em, good woman,” says I.

      “Yes, sir,” answers she, meekly, putting her pillow-slip in my hand, which perplexed me vastly by its weight and bulk.

      “They seem to be pretty big birds by the feel of ’em,” says I. “You can come in and shut the door after you.”

      Moll shuts the door and shoots the bolt, then tripping behind me into the light she casts back her hood and flings her arms round her father’s neck with a peal of joyful laughter.

      “What!” cries I. “Why, what can have brought you here?”

      “Why, I knew you’d have nothing to give my poor old dad but mouldy cheese, so I’ve brought you a brace of partridges, if you please, sir,” says she, concluding in her feigned voice, as she emptied the ham, pasty, and partridges all higgledy-piggledy out of the slip on to the table.

      “But, Mrs. Godwin—” says I, in alarm.

      “Oh, call me Moll,” cries she, wildly. “Let me be myself for this one night.”

      CHAPTER XXIX.

      Of the subtile means whereby Simon leads Mr. Godwin to doubt his wife.

      Again must I draw upon matter of after-knowledge to show you how all things came to pass on this fatal night.

      When Mr. Godwin reached London, he went to Sir Peter Lely’s house in Lincoln’s Inn, to know if he was still at Hatfield, and there learning he was gone hence to Hampton, and no one answering for certainty when he would return, Mr. Godwin, seeing that he might linger in London for days to no purpose, and bethinking him how pale and sorrowful his dear wife was when they parted, concludes to leave his picture at Sir Peter Lely’s and post back to Chislehurst, counting to give his wife a happy surprise.

      About eight o’clock he reaches the Court, to find all shut and barred by the prudent housekeeper, who, on letting him in (with many exclamations of joy and wonder), falls presently to sighing and shaking her head, as she tells how her mistress has lain abed since dinner, and is sick of the biliaries.

      In great concern, Mr. Godwin takes the candle from Mrs. Butterby’s hand, and hastes up to his wife’s room. Opening the door softly, he enters, to find the bed tumbled, indeed, but empty. He calls her in a soft voice, going into the next room, and, getting no reply, nor finding her there, he calls again, more loudly, and there is no response. Then, as he stands irresolute and amazed, he hears a knock at the door below, and concluding that ’tis his wife, who has had occasion to go out, seeking fresh air for her comfort maybe, he runs swiftly down and opens, ere a servant can answer the call. And there he is faced, not by sweet Moll, but the jaundiced, wicked old Simon, gasping and panting for breath.

      “Dost thee know,” says he, fetching his breath at every other word, “dost thee know where the woman thy wife is?”

      “Where is she?” cries Mr. Godwin, in quick alarm, thinking by this fellow’s sweating haste that some accident had befallen his dear wife.

      “I will show thee where she is; aye, and what she is,” gasps the old man, and then, clasping his hands, he adds, “Verily, the Lord hath heard my prayers and delivered mine enemies into my hand.”

      Mr. Godwin, who had stepped aside to catch up his hat from the table, where he had flung it on entering, stopped short, hearing this fervent note of praise, and turning about, with misgivings of Simon’s purpose, cries:

      “What are your enemies to me?”

      “Everything,” cries Simon. “Mine enemies are thine, for as they have cheated me so have they cheated thee.”

      “Enough of this,” cries Mr. Godwin. “Tell me where my wife is, and be done with it.”

      “I say I will show thee where she is and what she is.”

      “Tell me where she is,” cries Mr. Godwin, with passion.

      “That is my secret, and too precious to throw away.”

      “I comprehend you, now,” says Mr. Godwin, bethinking him of the fellow’s greed. “You shall be paid. Tell me where she is and name your price.”

      “The price is this,” returns the other, “thy promise to be secret, to catch them in this trap, and give no opening for escape. Oh, I know them; they are as serpents, that slip through a man’s fingers and turn to bite. They shall not serve me so again. Promise—”

      “Nothing. Think you I’m of your own base kind, to deal with you in treachery? You had my answer before, when you would poison my mind, rascal. But,” adds he, with fury, “you shall tell me where my wife is.”

      “I would tear the tongue from my throat ere it should undo the work of Providence. If they escape the present vengeance of Heaven, thee shalt answer for it, not I. Yet I will give thee a clue to find this woman who hath fooled thee. Seek her where there are thieves and drunkards to mock at thy simplicity, to jeer at their easy gull, for I say again thy wife never was in Barbary, but playing the farded, wanton—”

      The patience with which Mr. Godwin had harkened to this tirade, doubting by his passion that Simon was stark mad, gave way before this vile aspersion on his wife, and clutching the old man by the throat he flung him across the threshold and shut the door upon him. But where was his wife? That question was still uppermost in his thoughts. His sole misgiving was that accident had befallen her, and that somewhere in the house he should find her lying cold and insensible.

      With this terror in his mind, he ran again upstairs. On the landing he was met by Mrs. Butterby, who (prudent soul), at the first hint of misconduct on her mistress’s part, had bundled the gaping servants up to their rooms.

      “Mercy on us, dear master!” says she. “Where can our dear lady be? For a surety she hath not left the house, for I locked all up, as she bade me when we carried up her supper, and had the key in my pocket when you knocked. ‘See the house safe,’ says she, poor soul, with a voice could scarce be heared, ‘and let no one disturb me, for I do feel most heavy with sleep.’”

      Mr. Godwin passed into his wife’s room and then into the next, looking about him in distraction.

      “Lord! here’s the sweet thing’s nightgown,” exclaims Mrs. Butterby, from the next room, whither she had followed Mr. Godwin. “But dear heart o’ me, where’s the ham gone?”

      Mr. Godwin, entering from the next room, looked at her as doubting whether he or all the world had taken leave of their wits.

      “And СКАЧАТЬ