THE SIGNALMAN’S LOVE-STORY.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAP. II.
I obeyed Miss Cleabyrn’s injunction not to follow her, though I wished to restore the watch and chain she had left with me; but I strained my gaze in the direction she had taken. In the continued bellowing of the wind and through the driving rain, it was difficult to hear or see anything, even when close at hand; yet I fancied I could hear her footsteps, as she reached the lane which was at the foot of the railway bank, and could see her.—Yes! again I heard footsteps; but surely they were not hers; and the vague, shadowy glimpse of a form I obtained was not Beatrice Cleabyrn, and—I might be confused by the rain; but if not, there were two others.
It was in vain to strain my sight any longer; I could see and hear no more, so I returned to my duties; and in the morning I might almost have persuaded myself that all had been a dream, but for the presence of the articles which Miss Cleabyrn had left with me.
I felt at liberty, and indeed felt bound to take my mother into the secret, as her house would probably be the place of refuge for the captain; but I did not tell her all I have now said. She was not informed of what I well knew was the true reason for Miss Cleabyrn seeking me out and intrusting me with so dangerous a secret.
The old lady, who was a confirmed student of the newspaper, and had long been interested in the fate and fortunes of the captain, was glad to have the chance of being of service to him, and arranged at once where he should sleep. We had not much choice, our cottage being but of four rooms.
My mate told me, when I went on duty, that it was rumoured at the Chequers that Captain Laurenston was in the neighbourhood for certain, and would be caught, worse luck! It was impossible that he could get away, there was such a lot on the lookout for him. I returned some indifferent answer, for, of course, I could not tell him how terribly I could have corroborated his tale. I could, however, and did, echo his last wish at leaving, that the officer might beat all his enemies.
It was again a soaking wet night; the wind had gone down, so that the rain did not drive as on the previous day, and there was no violence in the downpour, but it was steady and drenching enough. The usual passenger and goods trains had passed, and I grew nervous with expectancy. No idea had been given me as to when Captain Laurenston would make his appearance; but I could not help thinking it would be about the same time as my visitor had come on the previous evening; and I was right.
I took the precaution to turn my lamp down a little, so as to diminish the light; for there was no knowing what eyes might be on the watch, and I was standing at the entrance to my hut, striving to pierce the darkness, when I was startled by two figures coming suddenly before me. I knew them. They entered, and I closed the door.
‘Thank heaven, you are safe, so far, Oswald!’ exclaimed the lady—Miss Cleabyrn, of course—‘and I know you can confide in our friend Waltress; so I trust you are out of the toils.’
‘Yes,’ said the captain, turning to me and grasping my hand. I knew him by his voice and by Miss Cleabyrn’s words; but had we met casually, I assuredly should not have recognised him. His glossy moustache and full whiskers were gone, while a light wig hid what was left of his dark curls. ‘I know I can trust him,’ he said; ‘I knew it the first time I saw his face.—But leave me now, dearest; it will only be for a time—a short time, ere we meet again. Thank our friend Waltress, and let us say farewell.’
Miss Cleabyrn offered her hand—there was such a queer thrill in my own veins as I touched it, such a recalling of past days!—and she said a few words expressive of her gratitude. These were only few; but with her soft voice in my ears, and the sight of her now swimming eyes before me, I would have dared death in her service.
She then threw her arms round the captain’s neck, and strove to frame a farewell, but broke down terribly, so that for a few minutes she was hysterical, and I dreaded lest she might scream aloud, and thus give the alarm to any chance traveller, or, it might be, any concealed watcher. But she recovered herself as quickly as she had broken down, dashed the tears from her eyes, gave one passionate kiss, and then fled into the darkness.
‘My poor dear girl,’ said the captain, with some hesitation in his voice, as he gazed after her. ‘I feel that I ought to have gone with her, and yet I know it would have been madness.—We were traced here, Waltress, for all I know; the watch upon me has been very close.’
I told him how I fancied I had seen two persons, when Miss Cleabyrn had left my box on the previous night.
‘Yes,’ he said, with a smile; ‘I joined her at the foot of the bank. But you must have good eyes.’
I explained that he misunderstood me; that I thought I had seen two persons follow the lady, although, in such a storm and in the darkness, it was impossible to be certain. He was a good deal disturbed at hearing this, being evidently at once convinced that my suspicions were well founded.
He had not been long in my hut, and we were talking about the best method of first concealing him and then getting him away, when I suddenly stopped in my speech and listened at the door.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Laurenston.
‘I heard a step of some one walking round the box,’ I returned; ‘and I am sure there is a man on the rails. No one has any business there at this time.’
In another instant a low whistle was heard.
‘They mean mischief,’ I said; ‘you are caged! These men are following you.’
The captain turned pale, and thrust his hand into his breast.
I guessed he had some weapon concealed there, so I exclaimed: ‘That will not do!—Here! There is just one chance; put on this coat and cap.’ They were those left by my mate.—‘Quick!’ I cried; ‘I can hear them coming!—Now, sit down, and write anything in this book. Don’t seem to shrink from’——
A sharp rap at the door interrupted me. Before I could answer it, the door was thrown open, and I saw three men—strangers—before me. Another was standing at some distance, so that I could not see him distinctly.
‘Your name is Waltress,’ said the foremost sharply, and with a quick glance round the interior of the hut. ‘We are in pursuit of a criminal, and have traced him to this spot.—Have you seen any stranger here?’
‘I have not been here all the evening,’ I said; ‘but no one has been here except—— Bill!’ I exclaimed to my supposed mate, ‘have you seen any fellows hanging about here?’
‘Bill’ turned half round; but the peak of his cap being drawn down over his face, and the collar of his coat being turned up, as was natural on such a night, he was effectually disguised, especially as his appearance was, as I have described, so completely changed. He spoke with his pen in his mouth, and said: ‘About three hours ago there was a fellow at the gates that I didn’t like the look of.’
‘We have seen our man, or he has been seen, since then,’ returned the speaker. Then addressing those behind, he said: ‘He may be hiding in those trucks,’ pointing to some on the other side of the line.
At that moment a man was really heard to leap from one of the trucks and to hurry along the road. I knew who it was, and that it was his duty to see to certain arrangements, before the train came through which would pick them up. The man who was standing apart also heard the noise, and called to the others; then, without another word, they all hurried to where the trucks were standing.
‘A near chance that,’ I said, turning to the captain, but stopped in my speech, from the shock his changed appearance gave me. He was deathly pale.
I began to feel more uneasy in my new undertaking than I had hitherto been, especially when I heard another step approaching and saw that some one bearing a light was coming to the hut.
I thought it was a second search, and felt that we could scarcely expect to repeat our success. However, it was only Charley Pearse, the night-goods foreman, who had come down to send the trucks off, and had crossed over to my box to tell me of a ‘rum go’ he had had with some queer-looking strangers, who had insisted on searching the trucks. ‘If they had been civil,’ said Charley, with a knowing wink and nod, evidently directed at my companion, ‘I might have told them something good; but they were preciously uncivil, talking to me as if I was a nigger or a convict, so I sent them to the Pike and Perch’—this was a beer-house some two miles off—‘and so, you know, if any gent’s in trouble and wants to clear out, now’s the time.’
It was at once clear that Charley knew, or pretty closely guessed, what was afoot. The captain looked anxiously at me. By a sudden inspiration I saw how to make a benefit of this new danger. ‘Charley,’ I exclaimed, ‘this is Captain Laurenston, who thrashed the major. You know all about him, I am certain, for we have often talked about the affair.’
Charley nodded.
‘If he does not get away to-night,’ I continued, ‘he will be caught, for there are spies about him everywhere.’
‘Well, what is the captain going to do?’
‘You can help him, Charley,’ I said. ‘Your brother goes down with the night-goods, and I know his wife’s brother is steward aboard the French packet. Get the captain down with the goods and smuggle him aboard.—Here! this will make it worth your while.’ As I said this, I drew out the watch and chain from my desk and pushed them towards Charley. His eyes sparkled, and I saw the business was as good as done.
Charley made a feeble objection to taking such valuables; but there was no time for fencing of this kind, so he picked the treasures up, and left, telling the captain to go outside and wait under the signal, as dangerous eyes might be upon the box.
The captain took his advice, after shaking my hand, and saying: ‘But what are you going to have for yourself, Waltress?—Well, never mind, I will see to that; you know I will do so, I hope.’
‘One thing is quite certain,’ I replied, ‘that I would not rob Miss Cleabyrn of her valuables, if they were a hundredfold as valuable.—Now, don’t argue, captain; but go and wait where Charley tells you.’
With another clasp of my hand, he went; and I was more nervous than I ever remember to have been before in my life, until the engine came and commenced ‘shunting;’ and then it was actually worse. Every moment I fancied I could hear a struggle, and I thought the engine had never been half so long over its work. But it went away at last; and its puffing was still faintly heard in the distance, when, without the slightest warning, the door of my hut was thrown open and there were the strange men again.
The leader exclaimed fiercely: ‘Now you, sir! where is the man who was here just now? We are up to your tricks. Where is he?’
‘Hush!’ said one of his companions, and whispered to him.
‘No proof!’ he exclaimed; ‘the scoundrels are all in league together. A woman with a man was seen coming towards this box, and where are they? We will have them; and you too, Mr Signalman, if you attempt any tricks upon us.’
I could see that half-measures or timid words would not do, so I boldly—in appearance at anyrate, although I was a good deal frightened—defied him. I told him point-blank that if I did know, or could know, where the persons he wanted were, I should not tell him.
This conduct was the best I could have adopted; the party were convinced I knew nothing of the fugitive, and so went away. But after they were gone, I felt horribly nervous; it had been so near a thing, that I would not have passed through the same excitement again for any money.
Charley and his friends were true to their trust. This was greatly to their credit, as there was a large reward out, which they could have earned by a few words; and they had not been in love with the captain’s sweetheart, as I had been. Charley brought me a note on the next day, written by the captain on board the French boat, and on the day following I got another from France; so Laurenston was safe.
I took an early opportunity of seeing Miss Cleabyrn as she was walking near her home, when I told her how I had disposed of the watch and chain. She looked at me with her old smile, which I remembered so well—remembered then!—why, I have not forgotten it now!—and said I must have my own way; but she would try to find a mode of conciliating even my disinterestedness; and she did so.
I heard nothing for some few weeks of any of the parties in the affair which had been so exciting to me; indeed, Miss Cleabyrn must have left home directly after the interview I have just spoken of, for I never saw her again—not for years, at anyrate. But I had a letter from her, a thing I had never dreamed would happen to me. It was dated from Boulogne, where she had arrived, she said, the previous day; and after thanking me for my services, and saying that Messrs Primer, her solicitors, had instructions to write to me, the letter was signed—I could hardly believe my eyes!—Oswald Laurenston and Beatrice Laurenston! So the secret was out!—they were married.
When I recalled the little scene in my hut, her passionate, unrestrained farewell, I felt that I ought to have known it then; but, if I may indulge in a philosophical reflection, I would say that all through life you are always looking back and blaming yourself for not having seen more plainly the things which were passing before your eyes.
Well, this was nearly the end of my adventure with Captain Laurenston; yet one or two incidents which remain to be told were perhaps as important to me as any that had gone before. There was at the end of our lane a cottage, somewhat larger than its neighbours, with quite a nice piece of ground attached, a great deal superior, indeed, to the others. To my amazement, Messrs Primer, of Lincoln’s Inn, sent down a clerk with the title-deeds of this house and land, which were actually presented to me as from Captain Laurenston.
It made my fortune, I may say. I was married to Patty within six months, and with her I have been thoroughly happy. But it was many a long day before I told her as much as I have written here. The captain and his wife must have had excellent information from some one in the neighbourhood of what went on—which was easy enough, as they were on friendly terms with old Mr Cleabyrn—for they sent Patty a beautiful silk dress and an amethyst brooch as wedding presents.
After a good many years, they returned to England, when Major Starley—who had been forced to resign—was dead, and the affair had blown over. They lived a long way off, however, and I only saw them once or twice. When I met Mrs Laurenston, leaning on her husband’s arm, or saw her riding in the pony carriage with some of her six pretty children, why, I laughed. But once I could not have laughed.