Basil and Annette: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"No, Master Basil, I am telling you the plain truth. You may imagine by your own feelings the effect those words had upon me. What bird but the magpie I had trained and taught for little lady could have uttered them? And after all these years too! I could scarcely believe my ears, but there was the bird, piping away at the window--I turned and saw it in a cage--calling to me, in a manner of speaking, to come and say how do you do? I went straight up to the house and knocked at the door. The woman who opened it started back at sight of the bear. 'It won't hurt you, ma'am,' I said, 'there's not a bit of vice in it. I've come to ask you something about a bird you've got. It's an old friend of mine, and I trained it for a young lady in Australia, and taught it some of the things it says.' 'Sure enough,' said the woman, keeping as far away from Bruno as she could, the bird's an Australian bird, and the young lady it belongs to was born in Australia. Emily's not at home now----' 'Not Emily, ma'am, begging your pardon,' I said, interrupting her; 'Miss Annette's the young lady I mean. Her father's name was Bidaud, and Basil, one of the names I taught the magpie to speak, was a dear friend of hers and mine.' 'Oh, yes,' said the woman, 'I know all about that. My daughter Emily is Miss Bidaud's maid, and she is taking care of the bird for her mistress for a little while. Emily's home for a holiday, but she's gone to see some friends in London, and won't be back till the day after to-morrow. Can I do anything of you?' 'You can tell me, if you please,' said I, 'where Miss Annette is. I'm sure she'll be glad to see me,' My idea was, Master Basil, to see little lady and ask her if she had any news of you, though I wanted, too, to see her for her own sake. Well, all at once the woman grew suspicious of me, and instead of speaking civil she spoke snappish. 'No,' she said, 'I shan't tell you anything about Miss Bidaud. You're a showman, travelling about with a big, nasty bear, and likely as not you're up to no good.' I didn't fire up; the woman had fair reason on her side. 'I'm a respectable man, ma'am,' I said, 'and it's only by accident I came into company with Bruno. My name's Corrie, and Miss Annette would thank you for telling me where she is.' But she wouldn't, Master Basil; all that I could get out of her was that I might come and see Emily the day after to-morrow, and her daughter could then do as she liked about telling me what I wanted to know. I went away with the determination to come back and have a talk with little lady's maid, but things don't always turn out as we want them to do. Very seldom indeed. That night there was a great hubbub in the place I was stopping at. Bruno had broke loose and gone goodness knows where, and all sorts of stupid stories got about that the bear was mad and was biting everybody it met. I had to go in search of the creature, and the police kept me in sight. A pretty dance Bruno led me. I was hunting for it three days and nights, and when I found it at last it was in a sorry plight. I shall never forget that evening, Master Basil. I don't know the rights of the story, but I was certain that Bruno had been set upon by dogs and men--it had marks of fresh wounds upon its body--and been hunted from place to place. When I caught sight of the bear it was lying by the side of a little pool, and at a little distance were some twenty men and boys pelting it with stones. I scattered them right and left, and knelt by Bruno's side. The poor beast tried to raise its head, but couldn't, and I got some water from the pool, which was all mudded with the stone-throwing, and bathed its mouth. It thanked me with its eyes--it did, Master Basil--and did its best to lick my hand. Its chest went up and down like billows of the sea, and once it gave a great sob as if its heart was broke. After that it got quieter, but it could neither eat nor drink. A policeman came up and told me to move on. 'Come, Bruno,' I said, 'march, my man. The law's got its eyes on you.' The creature actually managed to stand, and, more than that, got up on its hind legs as it did when it was performing. It pawed the air a little, and looked at me for orders, and then fell down all of a heap. 'Come,' said the policeman, 'you must move on, the pair of you.' 'Not possible, the pair of us,' said I, sorrowfully. 'Try if your truncheon can bring it to life.' Bruno dead was much more difficult to manage than Bruno alive. I had to pay money to get rid of its body, and then somebody summoned me for a scratch or a bite Bruno had given him, he said, and I had to pay money for that. All this took me some time, and I had very little money left at the end of it. I hadn't the heart to go back to Bournemouth to get little lady's address. What should I do with it when I got it? Go to her and beg? No, I was too proud for that. Most likely she was with her uncle, Mr. Gilbert Bidaud, the gentleman who wouldn't respect a dead brother's word, and I knew what I might expect from him. So I gave up the idea and came to London--came here to starve, Master Basil, for I could get no work to do, and have gone through more than I care to tell of. If I hadn't met you to-night I should have wandered about the streets, as I've done for many and many a night already; but I'll not dwell upon it. I've told my story as straight as I could."

[CHAPTER XXXVI.]

"It is a strange story," said Basil, "but less strange than the story I have to relate. We have both experienced the pangs of hunger and solitude, with wealth and luxury all around us. What chiefly interests me is your adventure in Bournemouth. Emily, you said, is the name of Annette's maid?"

"So her mother said."

"And the mother's name?"

"I ascertained that--Crawford."

"Do you know the name of the street in which she lives?"

"Lomax Road. I put it down on paper."

"If we were in Bournemouth, you could take me to the house?"

"Straight."