[CHAPTER XXIV.]
MR. EFFINGHAM'S PROGRESS.
When Mr. Effingham returned to town after his signal discomfiture at Redmoor by Miss Gillespie, he had only two objects in view: one to prevent Griffiths finding out that he had gone so near to achieving success, but yet had failed; the other to find out whither the young woman, who had so cunningly betrayed him, had betaken herself. The first was not very difficult. The meeting with the object of his search down at a country-house far away in Devon was too improbable to present itself to a far more brilliantly gifted person than Mr. Griffiths; while the receipt of five sovereigns (Sir Charles's donation had this time been represented at twenty-five pounds only) gave that gentleman an increased opinion of his friend's powers of persuasion, and rendered him hopeful for the future.
The accomplishment of the second object was, however, a different matter. Mr. Effingham's innate cunning taught him that after all he had said to Miss Gillespie--or Lizzie Ponsford--about the source of his instructions, the company of her old acquaintances--Messrs. Lyons, Griffiths, Crockett, and Dunks--was about the last she would be likely to affect; and yet in their society only would he have opportunities of seeking her. Through the oft-threaded mazes of that tangled web, in and out, from haunt to haunt, Mr. Effingham once more wended his way,--asking every one, prying into every corner, listening to every conversation,--all to no purpose. He began to think that the object of his search must have departed from her original intention, and instead of coming up to London, have halted on the way; but then, what could she have done alone, unaided, without resources, in any provincial town? Mr. Effingham took to frequenting the Devonshire public-houses and coffee-shops,--queer London holes kept by Devonshire people, who yet preserved a little clannish spirit, who took in a Devon paper, and whose houses were houses-of-call for stray children of the far West, sojourning for business or pleasure in London. Many a long talk was there in Long Acre or Smithfield, surrounded by the foetid atmosphere and the dull rumblings of metropolitan life, of the Exe and the Dart, of the wooded coast of Dawlish and the lovely bay of Babbicombe, of purple moor and flashing cataract, of wrestling-matches and pony-fairs. The cads who dropped in for an accidental half-pint stared with wonder at the brown countrymen, on whom the sun-tan yet remained, who talked a language they had never heard, in an accent they could not understand; who had their own jokes and their own allusions, in which the jolly landlord and his wife bore their part, but which were utterly unintelligible to the cockney portion of the customers. In these houses, among the big burly shoulders of the assembled Devonians, Mr. Effingham's perky little head was now constantly seen. They did not know who he was; but as he was invariably polite and good-natured, took the somewhat ponderous provincial badinage with perfect suavity, and was always ready to drink or smoke with any of them, they tolerated his presence and answered his questions respecting the most recent arrivals from their native county civilly enough. But all was unavailing; to none of them was the personal appearance of Miss Gillespie known. The presence of any stranger in their neighbourhood would not have passed unnoticed; but of the few sojourners who were described to him, none corresponded in the least to that person whom he sought so anxiously.
Would she not attempt to persevere in the new line of life which she had filled at Redmoor and succeeded in so admirably? As governess and companion she had been seemingly happy and comfortable; as governess and companion she would probably again try her fortune. Forthwith Mr. Effingham had a wild desire to secure the services of a desirable young person to superintend the studies of his supposititious niece; and Mrs. Barbauldson, who kept a "governess agency," and Messrs. Chasuble and Rotchet, who combined the providing of governesses and tutors with "scholastic transfers," vulgarly known as "swopping schools," the engagement of curates, and the sale of clerical vestments and ecclesiastical brass-ware, were soon familiarized with Mr. Effingham's frequent presence. He dropped in constantly at their establishments, and took the liveliest interest in the registers, looking through not merely the actual list of candidates for employment, but searching the books for the past three months. He paid his half-crown fees with great liberality, or else the manner in which he used to bounce in and out the waiting-room and examine the features of the ladies there taking their turn to detail the list of their accomplishments to the clerk, was, to say the least of it, irregular, and contrary to the regulations of the establishment. But all to no purpose,--he could learn nothing of any one in the remotest degree resembling Miss Gillespie: his search among the governess-agencies had been as futile as his visits to the Devonshire public-houses, and all Mr. Effingham's time and trouble had been spent in vain.
What should he try next? He really did not know. He had, ever since his visit to Redmoor, been rather shy of Mr. Griffiths, fearing lest that worthy person might learn more than it was necessary, in Mr. Effingham's opinion, he should know. Griffiths was to him a very useful jackal, and it was not meet that the jackal's opinion of the lion's sagacity and strength should be in any way diminished. Chance had so far favoured him that Mr. Griffiths had recently been absent from town, having accepted a temporary engagement of an important character, as occasional croupier, occasional doorkeeper, to a travelling band of gamblers, who were importing the amusing games of French hazard and roulette into some of the most promising towns in the Midland Counties.
One night Mr. Effingham was sitting in a very moody state at "Johnson's," sipping his grog and wondering vaguely what would be the next best move to make in his pursuit of Miss Gillespie, when raising his eyes, they encountered Mr. Griffiths,--Mr. Griffiths, and not Mr. Griffiths. Gone was the tall shiny hat, its place occupied by a knowing billy-cock; gone were the rusty old clothes, while in their place were garments of provincial cut indeed, but obviously costly material; a slouch poncho greatcoat kept Mr. Griffiths's body warm, while Mr. Griffiths's boots, very much contrary to their usual custom, were sound and whole, and hid Mr. Griffiths's feet from the garish eye of day. Moreover, Mr. Griffiths's manner, usually a pleasing compound of the bearing of Ugolino and the demeanour of the Banished Lord, was, for him, remarkably sprightly. He threw open the swing-door, and brought in his body squarely, instead of butting vaguely in with the tall hat, as was his usual custom; he walked down the centre of the room, instead of shuffling round by the wall; and advancing to the box in which Mr. Effingham was seated in solitary misery, he clapped him on the back and said, "D'Ossay, my buck, how are you?"
The appearance, the manner, and the swaggering speech had a great effect on Mr. Effingham. He looked up, and after shaking hands with his friend, remarked, "You've been doin' it up brown, Griffiths,--you have. They must have suffered for this down about Hull and Grimsby, I should think?" And with a comprehensive sweep of his forefinger he took in Griffiths's outer man from his hat to his boots.
"Well, it warn't bad," said Mr. Griffiths, with a bland smile. "The yokels bled wonderful, and the traps kept off very well, considerin' I'm pretty full of ochre, I am; and so far as a skiv or two goes, I'm ready to stand friend to them as stood friend to me, D'Ossay, my boy. No? Not hard up? Have a drink then, and tell us what's been going on."
The drink was ordered, and Mr. Effingham began to dilate on the various phases of his pursuit of Lizzie Ponsford. As he proceeded, Mr. Griffiths went through a series of pantomimic gestures, which with him were significant of attempts to arouse a dormant memory. He rubbed his head, he scratched his ear, he looked up with a singularly vacant air at the pendent gas-light, he regarded his boots as though they were strange objects come for the first time within his ken. At length, when Mr. Effingham ceased, he spoke.