IN WHICH ERNEST VISITS STONY STRATFORD, AND E. DUNKSWELL COMES TO GRIEF.
THOUGH I was in a strange land, and in the midst of the wonders of the Old World, I had but little curiosity to see the grand sights which London can present. I had been whirled through Ireland, Wales, and England to the great metropolis, part of the time by daylight; and though I had kept my eyes wide open, I realized that my mission was higher and grander than studying landscapes, and wandering through the vaulted arches of old cathedrals.
When Mr. Carmichael told me, early in the morning, that I was in England, the thought that I was in the same country with my mother thrilled me with delight, which, however, was not unmingled with apprehension lest I should seek and not find; lest disease and death had robbed me of her I sought. At the station in Euston Square I had parted with the telegraph agent, with many thanks for his kindness. I took his address, hoping that at some future time I might be able to reciprocate the attention he had bestowed upon me. I may as well say here that Mr. Carmichael afterwards came to the United States, and that I helped him to a situation which paid him ten times the salary he had ever before received, when he was as grateful to me as I had been to him.
Morley's Hotel is in Trafalgar Square, at one end of the Strand. I had looked up Old Jewry in the Post-office Directory. The hall porter of the hotel had given me general directions, and I walked out into the Strand, and took an omnibus with the word "Bank" painted on it. On the top of the London omnibus there is a double seat along the middle, on which the passengers sit facing the buildings on each side of the street. I occupied one of these places. The Bank of England was my objective point, for Old Jewry was near it. I passed St. Paul's, whose towering height and blackened walls I recognized, and entered Cheapside—a name which sounded quite familiar to me. I descended from my perch when the omnibus stopped, and after several inquiries found the place I sought.
Old Jewry was nothing but a narrow lane, and I had no difficulty in finding the number of Mr. Bunyard's office. I followed his name, repeated on the walls, up three flights of stairs; and by the time I had reached the third floor, I came to the conclusion that my uncle's agent was a person of no great consequence. He was fortunately in his room, a little apartment ten feet square, with no furniture but a desk and two chairs. Mr. Bunyard was a man of fifty or more. He stopped writing when I entered, and looked at me.
"Mr. Bunyard?" I asked, as politely as I could, while my heart leaped with emotion.
"The same," replied he.
I handed him the letter, which he opened at once. He took from it a bill of exchange, which seemed to light up his face with satisfaction.
"I am very happy to hear from my friend Mr. Thornton. I hope he is quite well. He does not mention the bearer of this letter," continued the agent, bestowing an inquiring look upon me.
"He was not aware, when he wrote the letter, that I should be the bearer of it," I replied, evasively. "My name is Thornton."
"I am happy to meet you, Mr. Thornton," he added.
"How is Mrs. Thornton now?" I inquired, boldly, though my heart almost sank within me, when I put the question.
He looked at me—appeared to hesitate; but a glance at the letter and the bill of exchange I had brought apparently reassured him. Doubtless he concluded, as I supposed he would, that it was all right, since I came directly from his employer, and was the bearer of a payment to him.
"Mrs. Thornton is quite as well as usual," he replied.
"I wish to see her," I continued, squarely.
"Did your father desire you to see her?" he asked, doubtfully.
"Of course he did," I answered, which was quite true, though my conscience charged me with deceiving him. "I wish to make an arrangement with her."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, sir."
"It would be proper that any arrangement with her should be made through me," he added, cautiously.
"Of course, the actual business will be done through you," I replied, magnanimously.
"Certainly it should be, for I have served Mr. Thornton very faithfully for many years in this matter, and at a very reasonable compensation."
"I know that he appreciates your devotion, and is willing to do the right thing by you," I continued at a venture; and I thought there was no harm in committing my uncle to a liberal policy.
"I have been paid only one hundred pound a year for my services, and that only for a brief period. Really I must insist, before you see the poor lady, that you should explain your business with her."
"My time is short," I replied, rather brusquely. "I wish to know for what sum, cash down, you will terminate your relations with the lady."
"That will require some consideration," replied he, apparently pleased with the idea.
"Of course your client in this matter is entirely in your power. He cannot shake you off, and whatever arrangement is made with the lady shall be done through you. Now, if you will give me her address, I will go and see her, and in the mean time you can make up your estimate of the sum that ought to be paid to you," I said, with the most business-like air I could assume.
"I will do it," replied he, after some hesitation; and he wrote the address on a piece of paper.
How eagerly I took it! I felt then that the battle had been fought and won. On the paper was written: "Mrs. Thornton, Stony Stratford, Bucks. Inquire for Mrs. Challis." My business with Mr. Bunyard was done, and I hastened away, though he insisted upon my remaining longer. I think he was sorry he had given me the address before I left the room.
Being near the banker's, I drew fifty pounds, which was paid without question.
I went back to Morley's, and ascertained that Stony Stratford was on the road to Rugby, and that I must leave the train at Wolverton station. I called a Hansom cab, and reached Euston Square depot just in time for the train. I will not attempt to describe the emotions which agitated me as I sped over the country. I was on the point of meeting my mother, and though the rich panorama of an English landscape was passing before me, I could think of nothing else. In two hours I reached the Wolverton station, and there learned that it was four and a half miles to Stony Stratford. I engaged a team to take me over. My driver inquired till he found the house of Mrs. Challis. It was a small and mean dwelling, and I began to feel indignant that my mother was compelled to live in such a place. My knock, under the influence of this feeling, was a very decided one.
"Is Mrs. Thornton at home?" I inquired—my utterance almost choked by agitation—of the woman who came to the door.
"She is, but she don't see any one," replied the woman, sourly, as she abruptly closed the door in my face.
I rapped again, and my knuckles not proving sufficient, I used my boot.
"You can't see Mrs. Thornton!" snarled the woman, angrily, as she opened the door a little crack.
"I can and will!" I replied. "Mr. Bunyard sent me."
"O, did he?" she added, opening the door.
"Here's the paper he gave me."
She looked at it, and invited me to enter. My limbs trembled under me as I walked into the room.
"Mrs. Thornton is out in the garden, but I will call her," said Mrs. Challis—or I supposed it was she.
"Never mind calling her. I will see her in the garden," I added, going out of the back door, which was open, without waiting for the woman's permission.
Walking in the back part of the garden I discovered a lady, thin and pale, dressed in coarse but neat garments. It was my mother. I could hardly control myself. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at her.
"Mrs. Thornton?" I asked, tremblingly.
"I am Mrs. Thornton," replied she, gazing curiously at me.
"I suppose you know Amos Thornton?" I continued, not daring to tell her who I was.
"To my sorrow I do," she replied, shaking her head.
"I have heard that you had a son."
"He is gone—why do you ask?"
"Gone?"
"He is dead," said she, sadly.
"Are you sure?"
"For a long time I would not believe it."
"I think it is a mistake."
Her chest heaved with emotion, and the tears flowed down her pale cheek. She gazed at me a moment, and then threw her arms around my neck.
"You are my son—I know you are!" sobbed she.
"My mother!" was all I could say; and we wept for many minutes in silence, closely folded in each other's arms.
When I raised my head, Mrs. Challis was standing by us. She had a troubled look, as though she feared something had gone wrong.
"What does all this mean?" she asked; but neither of us took any notice of her.
"I have hoped all the time that you were not dead," said my mother, smiling through her tears.
"I must return to London immediately, and you must go with me, mother," I continued.
"To London!" exclaimed Mrs. Challis. "Indeed she must not go to London!"
"Indeed she must!" I added, as decidedly as though I meant to break through a stone wall, if need be. "Get ready as quick as you can, mother, for there is not more than time enough for us to reach the station."
"I say she cannot go!" interposed Mrs. Challis.
"And I say she can and shall! Get your clothes, mother."
"There is three pound five due for her board," added the landlady.
"Give me the bill, and I will pay it."
My mother seemed to be bewildered, but I led her to the house, and urged her to prepare for her journey. Mrs. Challis, after I had paid her bill, continued to object to the departure of her boarder. I told her if she wished to keep out of trouble, the less she said, the better it would be for her. My poor mother had been so long a prisoner, that she was confused by the sudden change in her prospects. I went into her room, and assisted her in packing her meagre wardrobe. She had put on a well-worn black silk dress, and an antiquated bonnet lay on the table. I told her to take only such clothing as she would need immediately, for I saw that most of her wearing apparel was not worth the transportation. Having thrust these articles into a carpet-bag, I hurried her out of the house to the carriage which was waiting for me at the door.
We reached the station in time for the London train. My mother was excited, and I did not permit her to speak of the past. I kept up a lively conversation, and did not allow her to think of her wrongs and her sorrows. On our arrival, we went to Morley's, where I obtained a room for her. Mr. Solomons had just arrived. He had received the telegraphic despatch in Liverpool. I hastily told him my story, and what I had done since my arrival in London.
"My dear boy!" exclaimed he, "you have done wonders. I was sure you were lost overboard. No one had seen you, or heard anything of you; only the officers and sailors had warned you not to sit on the rail."
"Where is Dunkswell?" I asked.
"He came to London in the same train I did."
At my request Mr. Solomons accompanied me to the office of Bunyard. When we entered, Dunkswell was there. Both of them had found out that "somebody" was smart.
"Young man, you have deceived me!" said Bunyard, savagely.
"The wicked deceiveth himself," I replied, in words better than my own. "I have called to say that you need give yourself no further trouble in regard to Mrs. Thornton. I wish to tell you now that she is in London, and that she is my mother."
"I must be paid—"
"Paid!" I interposed. "I'll pay you! We are not far from Newgate, and if my mother is willing, I will help you to lodgings there. As for you, E. Dunkswell, you can go back to Tom Thornton, and tell him you have burnt your fingers. You helped me overboard."
"I!" exclaimed he, with quivering lip.
"Did he?" asked Mr. Solomons.
"I believe he did; perhaps I can prove it."
E. Dunkswell sank into a chair, pale as a ghost. Bunyard looked cheap, and said no more about being paid, and I retired from the presence of my defeated foes. Mr. Solomons insisted that they should be punished, especially Dunkswell, but I told him I could not prove that he had pushed me overboard; and I could not stay in London long enough to follow up the criminal. I engaged passage in the Saturday steamer for my mother and myself before returning to the hotel.
We remained four days in London, during which time I kept my mother's mind fully occupied in replenishing her wardrobe.