Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Two.
In Chase.
“Five o’clock,” said Harry Clayton, as the clerk came in to lay a couple of letters upon the table of his employer’s private office. “How long have I been waiting this time?”
“Better than an hour, sir,” said the clerk.
“What time do you close?” inquired Harry.
“Five o’clock, sir,” said the clerk; “he won’t come here now.”
“S’pose not,” said Harry. “I’ll run down to Norwood. Hardly like going without an invite though, now. It won’t seem like home,” he muttered; and then he looked at the door, as much surprised as the clerk, for there stood the figure of poor Ellen.
“That’s the lady he went out with,” said the clerk, in an undertone.
“Has he not come back?” said Ellen, hoarsely. “Has not Mr Richard Pellet returned?”
“No,” said Harry, quietly. “I am waiting for him.”
“Who are you?” said his companion, abruptly.
“Who am I?” said Harry, smiling good-humouredly. “My name is Clayton.”
“Her son?” she exclaimed.
“The late Mrs Clayton’s son, if that is what you mean; and Mr Pellet is my stepfather!”
“I thought so; and where is she?”
“In heaven, I trust,” said Harry, reverently.
“Dead! dead! And did he kill her, as he killed me, to marry some one else?”
“Hush!” said Harry. “Perhaps you had better go,” he said to the clerk, who was feasting, open-mouthed, upon the gossip banquet before him, but immediately left the room.
“Where is he now?” she said, eagerly.
“At Norwood, I expect,” said Harry. “But, may I ask, who are you?”
“Me!—me!” she exclaimed, passionately. “I am the woman who has been his slave through life—the woman he drove mad, and then kept hidden away that he might marry money. I’m mad, I know, but only sometimes—only sometimes. And now—and now, he has robbed me of my child—his child!—no, no! my child—my own darling; and they try to cheat me; they say it is dead. But no, it could not die; it is well and happy, and,” she continued, in an undertone, “I have half maddened him. I was here this morning and told him I would have my little one. I would not leave him, but he contrived to evade me.” Then, catching Harry’s wrist, she whispered a few words in his ear which made him turn pale with horror.
“Nonsense! No, no! not so bad as that,” he said, hoarsely.
“Yes, yes, I fear it is. Take me with you now—at once.”
Harry stood for a moment thinking, and half confused, at times, too, doubting the wisdom of taking such a companion; then, evidently having formed his plans, he said hurriedly, “Come then!” and in a few minutes they had secured a cab, and were rattling over London Bridge.
A train due in five minutes, but it seemed to them five hours before it came. Off at last, though; and very soon after leaving the station their footsteps were crunching over the gravel sweep that led to the front door of Richard Pellet’s place, when, as soon almost as they reached the porch, the door flew open, and a burst of warm light greeted them, their approach having been heralded by a bell from the lodge.
“Mr Pellet in?” said Harry to one of the gentlemen in drab and coach-lace.
“Not been gone out ten minutes, sir.”
“Do you know where to?” said Harry.
The gentleman in coach-lace looked at his fellow, and then back at Harry, to answer—
“Station, sir; carriage not come back yet. Came ’ome and had early dinner, and ordered carriage at five.”
“No idea where he is gone?” said Harry, anxiously.
The gentleman in coach-lace looked at his fellow once again, before answering, while Ellen whispered to Harry, as she tightly clutched his arm, “Ask him again—again,” but there was no need.
“Paris, I think, sir,” said the man. “I shouldn’t tell any one, sir; but it can’t be wrong to tell you. Glad to see you here again, sir. Like dinner d’reckly?”
“No, no,” said Harry, hesitating. “Did you notice anything particular?—but what makes you say Paris?”
“Because he told me to look what times trains run from London Bridge to Newhaven, sir; and what time the Dieppe boat started. His hand shook so, sir, he couldn’t find out for himself.”
“Was he ill? Did you see anything particular in him?” said Harry, anxiously.
“Didn’t seem himself at all, sir; and did nothing hardly at dinner but drink wine, sir.”
“There, there!” whispered Mrs Richard, “I told you so; he is wild, and you must stop him, or he will—”
Harry shuddered, and turned away to snatch his portmonnaie from his pocket and count its contents.
“You had better stay here,” he said.
“No, no! I must go with you. I want—I want to be with you. If anything were to happen—if he committed any rash act, I should feel that his blood was upon my head. Come!” she said, eagerly, and with a strange look in her eyes. “Come! there is no time to lose. I want—I want to be on the way.”
By consulting Bradshaw, Harry found that they might reach Newhaven before the boat started; perhaps catch the very train by which Richard Pellet travelled, though the probability was that they would find him to have an hour’s start of them, but by a slow train—that is, if he had gone at all, which Harry was sometimes disposed to doubt. But then he had taken luggage, and had written a direction, so the man said; and in corroboration he brought a blotting-pad, and part of a book of adhesive luggage labels, one of which was written upon; but, perhaps from want of legibility, smeared hastily over. But there, plain enough to read, was the address—“R. Pellet, Hotel Laroche, R—.”
That was all. Where would “R” be? Some Rue in Paris, Harry thought; when his eyes fell upon the blotting-pad—one that had hardly been used, but upon which, in reverse, he could now make out the same address, left by another label that had been blotted upon it. “R. Pellet” was perfectly plain; and then, with a little puzzling, he made out the rest,—“Hotel Laroche, Rouen.”
“Can we have the brougham?” said Harry, for he was now satisfied.
“D’reckly, sir,” answered the man. But “d’reckly” proved to be a full half-hour afterwards, when, just as Harry was about to set off on foot for the station, the brougham came round to the door, and they stepped in.
“Station—quick!” said Harry.
The man drove quickly; but they were only in time to see one train glide away through the darkness, leaving them waiting impatiently for the next.
Fortunately for the travellers, the trains succeeded each other very rapidly, and getting out at London Bridge, they had just time to cross over and reach the express as the last bell rang, hurrying into a carriage and giving vent to a sigh of relief as they felt it glide away into the outer darkness.
Gazing out of the window at the lamps here and there dimly seen through the fog that hung over them, Harry’s companion sat without speaking a word. Harry had ventured one or two remarks, but she had only made an impatient gesture with her hand, and, out of respect for her evident anxiety, he remained silent, and sat pondering over the probable termination of his expedition. It had been so hurried and excited an affair, that he had not before had time to think calmly: neither was a rapid express train upon the Brighton railway a desirable place for quiet meditation.
However, as they rushed along, he tried to link together the incidents that had led to what now seemed like a wild and foolish chase. What would his stepfather say to him for hunting him in this fashion, and for bringing with him this woman? But then her dark suspicion that he was wild with rage, and meditated self-destruction, joined to the accounts he had heard at Norwood of his strange unsettled state, which seemed to tend to the same conclusion, satisfied him upon the whole that he had done right in coming. It was evident that his companion had spoken the truth, and was connected with his stepfather in some way, from the clerk having pointed her out as the lady with whom his employer had gone out that morning.
“It must be right,” muttered Harry; and then his thoughts strayed away for awhile to Duplex Street, and he found himself forming plans for the future, in which Patty Pellet occupied a very prominent place.
His train of thought was interrupted by his companion uttering a moan, as though in deep distress; but, thinking it better not to intrude, he leaned back in his place, and the rest of the journey was performed in silence.
Newhaven at last, with the keen breeze blowing off the sea. Night black as Erebus, and the glimmering lamps looking down upon half-thawed snow lying here and there in patches. No fog visible, every wreath of vapour being chased away by the brisk breeze; but an utterly desolate aspect of misery everywhere, which made the warm glow of the great new-looking hotel-rooms pleasant by contrast.
“Boat, sir? half-an-hour, sir. Just time for refreshments, sir. Stout grey gentleman, sir, by last train? Not here, sir. Yes, sir, quite sure; must have known if one had come; perhaps gone to the little hotel in the town. Time to go and get back before the boat started? Should think not, sir; leastwise shouldn’t like to try.”
So said the waiter; and Harry and his companion started out into the dark night to search waiting-room, wharf, and steamer, deck and cabin, for him of whom they were in quest.