Run to Earth: A Novel

by M. E. Braddon

"I suppose she's the child of one of my brother's old shipmates, as rose to be better off," said Mrs. Miller, "for she's fretted about a captain, and cried bitter to go to him when I put her to bed." Then the two returned to the little parlour, and talked long and earnestly about the child, about the necessity for Mrs. Miller's now employing the services of "a girl," and about Rosamond Jernam.

Rosamond was greatly delighted with the child left in Mrs. Miller's care. The little girl interested her deeply, and every day she passed many hours with her, either at Mrs. Miller's house or her own. The grace and beauty of the child were remarkable; and as, with the happy facility of childhood, she began to recover from the first feeling of strangeness and fear, the little creature was soon happy in her new, humble home. She was too young to appreciate and lament the change in her lot; and, as she was well fed, well cared for, and treated with the most caressing affection, she was perfectly happy. Rosamond began to feel hopeful under the influence of the child's smiles and playful talk. The time must pass, she told herself, her husband must return to her, and soon there would be for them a household angel like this one, to bring peace and happiness permanently to their home.

Susan Jernam and Rosamond were much puzzled about this lovely child, Gerty Smith, as she was called. Not only her looks, but certain little ways she had, contradicted Mrs. Miller's theory of her birth, and though they fully credited the good woman's statement, and believed her as ignorant of the truth as themselves, they became convinced that there was some mystery about this child. Mrs. Miller had never spoken of her brother until he made his sudden and brief appearance at Allanbay; and unsuspicious and unlearned in the ways of the world as Mrs. Jernam was, she had perceived that he belonged to the doubtful classes. The truth was, that Mrs. Miller could have told them nothing about her brother beyond the general fact of his being "a bad lot." She had heard of him only at rare intervals since he had left his father's honest home, in his scampish, incorrigible boyhood, and ran away to sea. She had heard little good of him, and years had sometimes passed over during which she knew nothing of his fate. But even in Black Milsom—thief, murderer, villain, though he was—there was one little trace of good left. He did care a little for his sister; he did "look her up" at intervals in his career of crime; he did send her small sums of money—whence derived she had, happily, no suspicion—when he was "flush;" and he did hope "Old Polly" would never find out how bad a fellow he had been. Mrs. Miller's nature was a very simple and confiding one, and she never speculated much upon her brother's doings. She was pleased to have the charge of the child, and she fulfilled it to the best of her ability; but those signs and tokens of a higher station, which Susan Jernam and Rosamond recognized, were quite beyond her ken.

One morning the little household at Susan Jernam's cottage, consisting only of the mistress and her maid, was roused by a violent knocking at the door. Mrs. Jernam was the first to open it, and to her surprise and alarm, she found Mrs. Miller standing at the door, her face expressing alarm and grief, and little Gerty, wrapped in a large woollen shawl, in her arms. Her explanation of what had occurred thus to upset her was at first incoherent enough, but by degrees Mrs. Jernam learned that Mrs. Miller had come to entreat her to take care of the child for a day or two as she was obliged to go to Plymouth at once.

"To Plymouth!" said Mrs. Jernam—"how's that?—but come in, come in"—and they went into Mrs. Jernam's spotlessly neat parlour, that parlour in which Valentine Jernam had been permitted to smoke, and had told his aunt all his adventures, little recking of the final one then so close upon him. In the parlour, Mrs. Miller set little Gerty down, and the child, giddy and confused with her sudden waking, and being thus carried through the chill morning air, climbed up on the trim little sofa, and curling herself into a corner of it, sat quite motionless. Then, her agitation finding vent in tears, Mrs. Miller told Susan Jernam what had befallen. It was this:—

Just as day was dawning, a dog-cart, driven by a gentleman's servant, had come to her door—the dog-cart was now standing at a little distance from Mrs. Jernam's house—and she had been called out by the servant, and told that he had been sent to bring her over to Plymouth, with as little delay as possible. It appeared that her brother, who had gone to Plymouth after depositing the child with her, had been run over in the street by a heavy coal-waggon, and severely injured. He had been carried to a hospital, and was for some time insensible. When he recovered his speech he was delirious, and the surgeons pronounced his case hopeless. He was now in a dying state, but conscious; and had been visited by a clergyman named Colburne, the man's master, who had induced him to express contrition for his past life, and to make such reparation as now lay in his power. The first step towards this, as he informed Mr. Colburne, was seeing his sister. There was no time to be lost; the man's life was fast ebbing; it was only a matter of hours; and the good clergyman, who had been with the dying man far into the night before he had succeeded in inducing him to consent to this step, hurried home, and sent his servant off to Allanbay before daybreak.

There was little delay. A few words of earnest sympathy from Mrs.
Jernam, an assurance that the child should be well cared for, and Mrs.
Miller left the house, ran down the road to the dog-cart, climbed into
it, and was driven away.

Rosamond came in from her own little dwelling to her aunt's, at an early hour that day, and when the first surprise and pleasure of finding the child there had passed away, the two women fell to speculating on what kind of revelation it might be which awaited Mrs. Miller.

"Depend upon it, aunt," said Susan, "we shall hear the truth about little Gerty now."

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