Chaste as Ice, Pure as Snow: A Novel

by C. Despard

The waiter smiled pleasantly. His loquaciousness was natural to him, but it had so often received rude checks that he had long ago been taught to control it. "It interests you, do it, sir?" he said cheerfully. "Well, now, to speak confidential, it's my belief as that gentleman wasn't father at all to that there little lady. She cried considerable that first night, for the chambermaid had been given somethink a little extra by the gentleman when he came into the hotel that every care might be taken of the little lady. And it was all on and off, so she says, the little lady a-crying and a-sobbing, and 'Oh, my mamma! I want my mamma; take me home.' Not much sleep had the little lady, or Jane either, for the matter of that. She has an uncommon soft heart, has Jane, and the little lady's sobs, she says, would have melted a heart of stone, let alone hers. Well, sir, as I was a-saying, it looked queer; but next morning the gentleman—He was a fine man, sir, he was, but had a look with him as if from foreign parts, which, as one may say, looked queer again, the little lady being very fair, with hair the color of that there frame, sir, all in curls over her face, and the loveliest complexion you ever see. What was I a-telling you of? Oh! The next morning the gentleman, he ordered breakfast, and he and the little lady had it in this very room, as it might be now, sir, and certainly it wasn't no later, I being the waiter, Jane coming in now and again to see if little missy wanted for anythink. Seemed to us, Jane and me, that the gentleman said somethink in private, as it might be, to the little lady, for they seemed more friendlier-like, and after a bit little missy she write a letter and she look a deal cheerfuler, as one might say. The poor little dear hadn't so much—not as a change with her, sir." Again the waiter lowered his voice: "Looked queer, it did, and so says Jane to me in that very passage out there. Strange to tell, sir, the words is scarcely so much as out of our mouths before the bell rings violent-like, and Jane is sent out by that there gentleman, twenty pounds in her hand, and cart blank to get everythink ready made, and expense no object, as might be thought necessary for a young lady. It didn't take her long, I can answer for that. She come back with the things packed in a small portmanter, and her accounts made out all proper and business-like. It's Jane all over, sir. She do like to have everythink square and correct. 'But,' says the gentleman as grand as you please, 'I didn't want no accounts, and divide the change between yourself and the garçong;' by which he meant me, sir. It's the French way. They started that morning, and the little lady tell Jane, 'I shall come back very soon, I shall,' and then she puts her arms round her neck, 'Thank you,' she says in such a pretty way that Jane was quite upset like. And when she and the gentleman's gone there's this kind of shawl, as you have just remarked upon, sir, a-lying here in this room, and here it's been ever since. That's the story, sir, and I think you'll agree with me that it looks queer."

"It is strange," said Arthur very thoughtfully, "I can't understand it at all. Do you know," he continued, turning to the waiter, "I am almost sure I know the owner of this scarf. It is, I see, a thing of some value, but if the proprietor of the hotel will put it in my charge for a time, I will leave a deposit to any amount he may think fit in its place, and restore it to him faithfully if I should prove to have been mistaken."

"I can't see for myself as how he can make any objection, sir; however, with your permission I must leave you now—there's my bell."

The waiter did not stay away longer than he could possibly help. Arthur's interest in the scarf seemed to him a new link in the story which had so powerfully excited the curiosity of various members of the establishment. On his return he found the young man still holding the scarf in his hand, with a thoughtful look on his face. But his patient receptivity of the waiter's good-humored chat seemed to have passed. "I wish to speak to the proprietor of the hotel," he said shortly.

"At once, sir?" asked the man in a disappointed tone. He was full to the brim of fresh particulars, hastily set in order during his journey from one breakfast-table to another.

"As soon as possible," was the reply, "I must leave York by an early train."

For Arthur Forrest could scarcely control his impatience. The waiter's dramatic little tale had awakened his interest. He had a kind of fancy that it was connected in some way with Margaret.

The proprietor found him pacing the room excitedly. He was politely surprised at the interest taken by the young gentleman in this small item of property left in his house, agreed with him that it was an article of some value, but refused to receive any deposit in exchange for it, with the exception of the young gentleman's card, and his assurance that they should hear whether or no the owner had been found, and finally presented his little bill, swollen in various items to fit in reasonably with the importance the young gentleman appeared to attach to the discovery he had made in the establishment. The landlord might have asked for double the amount; Arthur would have been perfectly unconscious. He was only anxious to get away with his treasure—to unearth the mystery it seemed to hide.

In all haste he sent for the friendly waiter, pressed half a sovereign into his willing hand, urging him to order a fly and get his traps together without delay.

In an incredibly short space of time the lumbering vehicle, as light as any that could be found in the ancient city, was bearing him through the narrow streets and overhanging gates to the station—a fresh stage on his journey to her.