TALES OF TO-DAY.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 147, 22 June 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

TALES OF TO-DAY.

A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES,

BY GEORGE R. SIMS,

Author of « Rogues and Vagabonds,' « Three Brass Balls,' 'How the Poor Live,' The Lights o' London,' &c, &c.

XII.

THE PRISON BABY. No. ll.—Concluded.

When - Mr Dinmore Smibh, the dramabisb met Captain Danvers, one of Her Majesty' B Inspectors of Prisons, ab bhe Club according to appointment, he lost no time in coming to the subject which was upper' tooyt in his mind.

_(c informed his friends that since bhe visit to the prison he had read up bhe case of the young woman convicted of the

jewel robbery, and he was anxious to obtain

a little further information, and for that Jourposo he should have to trespass still furbher upon the Captain's kindness. * What do you want V said the Capbain.

' I wanb to obtain an interview with the male prisoner, the man who called himself Captain Oarth.'

' Ycu don't suppose he would give you ..ay informabion ?'

'He might—the information I" want. Whab I am anxious bo find, out is the exact relationship in which the woman stood to him.'

* That's hardly difficult to arrive ab,' replied the Captain. ' The baby ought bo be a pretty good clue to anyone in doubt.'

' Under ordinary circumstances, yes, but the girl was so anxious at the trial to have it thoroughly understood that she was not Garth's wife. She wasn't living with him when they were arrested, and at the Piccadilly lodgings they had taken three rooms, if you remember.'

'Does that suggest anything to yoii, then V

■* Yes. It suggests to me that there is a anystery which we have not yet fathomed. It seems odd to me that this young woman, who is described as a gentle, well-behaved creature, and who has preserved such an obstinate silence, according to the matron, concerning her share in the transaction, should have been mixed up ia such an affair ab all. I have an idea bhab after all she may have been innocent of any direct share in it —she may have been the victim of circumstances.'

* I'm afraid you're letting your sympathy with a pretty woman run awa'v with you, _iy dear fellow,' said the Captain. 'So far as I remember the --ace, the woman was in the room ab the time the jeweller's assistant was chloroformed, and escap-tl from the room with Garth. She must have been an accomplice, and later on she was found nttempting to pawn a portion of the stolen property, while the man was waiting round the corner for the proceeds. I can't see. myself, Under these circumstances, where the innocence can possibly coma in.' * It looks black against the woman cer4ainly,un_ommonly black ; but I want to get at her motive in helping Lhis man, who must have been at least thirty years her senior, in his wicked plot.' 'She probably helped him because she "was his mistress, and she would have bene_ibed by the transaction.'

'I don't think so.'

• What do you think, then ?' ' 1 think thab bhis girl was an unwilling sisdstan _ all through—that for some reason, Vhioh did nob come out at the trial, she *w,_ in this man's power, and that ho compelled her to do whab she did.'

The Captain shrugged his shoulders. ' You may be right,' be said ; ' I don'b Wiink you are, bub even bhen bhe woman Was guilty in the eyes of tho law, not *)<Mog his wife. According to her own statement, she was not in the slightest way compelled to obey the fellow," I don't think that anything you could discover would 3_ave altered the verdict.'

* Perhaps not, but it might have, miti'gabed her punishmenb. I bell you frankly that since I saw that poor little girl baby in the prison nursery, and learned themother's story, the desire to find oub her real share in the transaction has become a fixed idea \yibh me. I want to see bhe man. It is just possible I might get from bfm an inkling of the truth.'

' That's a difficult job, and even if it could be managed, I doubt if the prisoner "would bell you anything but lies.' * Will you try and manage it for me ?' Til see. You will have to get an order from the Home Secretary, and 1 shall have* to find a very strong reason for asking bhab 5t may be granted.'

•Well, try.'

• Oh, I'll try. I'll think the matter out and see which is the besb way to go about ib, and let you know. In tho meantime I'll make inquiries at the prison about the man—he may have friends from whom you could obtain the information, you know.' With this promise Mr Dinmore Smith was obliged to be satisfied, and there the matter was left for the time.

Before they parted, Mr Smith remarked thab he had anobher quesbion to ask his friend. What were the regulations wibh regard to children born in the prison ? Supposing a convict mother consented, might not some respectable person outside have the custody of the baby ? Captain Danvers didn't think that there was any official obstacle to such an arrangement. It frequently happened that bhe friends of the prisoner took the baby as Boon as ib could leave bhe mobher and broughb ib up until its mother was seb at liberty. j

'But,' he added, with a smile, *you surely don't contemplate taking the child yourself ?'

' No, bub my sisber, to whom 1 told the story, would take ib, I think. She has jusb lost her own little one, and is sentimental on the subject of babies, you know.' ' Well, it would be a fine thing for the child if the mother would consent—which is doubtful. Bub I'll see aboub bhab too for you, if yon are serious. You seem to have got the woman and her baby on your brain !'

'In some unaccountable way I have. When will you leb me know the result of your inquiries ?' ' Well, I'm rather busy just now. I have to inspect some provincial prisons this wesk. I shall be away aboub a forbnighb. On my return I'll see what can be done.'

The conversation then turned on other subjects, and presently the two men separated.

As they were parting the Captain jokingly said, ' I say, old fellow, I hope when you adopt bhe baby you'll be satisfied. Don't ask me to take an offer of marriage on your behalf to the mother. According to all accounts she's a very beautiful and fascinating young woman.' The dramatist smiled, but his smile was t sad one.

'No fear of that,' he said. 'My first matrimonial experience was boo terrible a one for me ever to be tempted to repeat the experiment.'

'I beg your pardon, old fellow, I'd forgotten about that. Forgive me, won'b you?'

'There is nobhing to forgive. Good nighb, and thank you very much for the trouble you are taking for me.' ' Delighted to do anything I can for you. Good night.'

About a fortnight after the conversation at the club, Mr Smibh was sibbing ab his desk, in the throes gf a drama which obstinately refused to allow itself to be constructed on recognised dramatic lines, when his servant came into his room with a telegram.

He opened it and read ib. .'Call upon me at tha Boma Office, if poa-

8-b__, to-day, before two o'clock. Important.—Danvers.'

At one o'clock Mr Smith was ab bhe Home Office, and was taken ab once bb Captain Danvers's room in the Prison Department.

'Hullo, old fellow,' said bhe Captain. 1 Sorry to fetch you here, bub I only came up for bhe day on business, and I leave for Manchester again to-night, so I couldn't call on you.'

' You have some information for me aboub '

' About the prison b_by _ mamma 1 Yes. I wrote to tho matron the other day, and her letter in reply has been lying here for me, so thab I only gob it this morning. Read it.'

The Captain handed Mr Smibh a letter, which was as follows s—

' Dear sir,—The prisoner, Annie Garth, about whom you enquiro, is still seriously ill—so ill that her life ia despaired of. Ido not think myself that she will over recover. I spoke to her about the baby being taken by a lady, and she seemed pleased to think that the little one would have a home instead of going- to the workhouse. But she did not want it sentaway yet. She says it isher only comfort-to seeit now and then, and she has quite made up her mind that she is going to die. She says she shall die happier knowing that tho baby will have a friend when she is gone. I think my :;eif that it Vrodld be ri.3 well to leave the child herti fbf the present. The poor woman will not, I feel confident, last long.

'lam, sir, your obedient servant, ' , Chief Matron.'

'Poor thing,' said Mr Smith, as he pub the letter down; ' what a terrible life drama it is !'

'If she dies, am I to understand thab your sister will take the child ?'

'Certainly.' , ... .' It will be an. act) '_. real Christian charity. Poor little mite, it will save it from being sent to the workhouse.' ' Now about the other matter. The interview with the man. I suppose you haven't had time to do anything in that direction yeb .' ' Yes, I have. ,1 haves asc-rbaihed thab on visibing days he has been visited by a man who flays that he is his brother. I have ascertained that this man is a stage carpenter ab one of bhe Ea3b End theatres. I have his address for you somewhere.' The Captain looked' in his pocket book, and presently from a mass of papers selected a half sheet of paper on which an address had been written down.

He handed ib to Mr Smibh,

' There you are,' he said, ' there is the name of the bheabre at which he is employed, and there is his private address. If you take my advice, instead of going through tlie tedious process of getting an Oi'der for an interview with the prisoner, you'll go and see this man. Y'ou'll probably get a good deal more, out of him than you will oub of the convict.' .'Thank's,' said Mr Smibh, putting the address carefully away. 'At any rate I will see this man. He may save me any further trouble.' ,

The next day Mr Smibh was too busy to go out, but the following morning he made his way to the Theatre, and being known professionally, had no difficulty in getting on to the stage, where Joseph Ruston, the carpenter attached to tho establishment, was at work. Introducing himself, and saying that he wished to speak to Mr Ruston on private business, Mr Smith had very little difficulty in persuading that gentleman to step across the road with him to tho publichouse and have a glass of ale. Entering a private bar, which at that time of the day was empty, and the beer having been called for, the dramatist plunged at once in medias res. 'You musb forgive me asking you,' he said, • but are you not a relative of the man who calls himself Garth, and who, aboub two years ago, was convicted of chloroforming and robbing a jeweller's assistant ?' The carpenter, who had the glass. of ale to his lips, out ib down again with a trembling hand, while his face changed colour. ♦Don't bealarmed,' exclaimed Mr Smith. • I assure you that your secret is safe wibh me, and that my motive for asking you is nob an unkind one. I am anxious, on the conbrary, to do one of bhe prisoners a service.'

' I—l don't know how you found it out, 1 stammered the man, ' but I hope you won't go put: ing ib aboub. It would do me a lob of injury if it was known here.' ' I quibe understand thab, and I give you my word of honour that no one shall know ib from me. I have only come to you for some information, for which I should otherwise have had to go to your brother."' • He is my brother, worse luck,' said the man, ■' and a nice disgrace he's been to the family. We lost sighb of him for years, and I never knew ib was him as was mixed up in bhab chloroforming business bill I had a lebter from bim after he was in prison.'

'Then you hain't seen much of him previous to that?' 'I hadn't seen him for nearly twenty y ears —the last time as I saw him was when he went to America with his wife and child.

'He was married twenty years ago, then?'

' Four and bwenty years ago. He was a steady chap after he married, and he did pretty well in the States for a time, but he got into bad company, I suppose. Ab any rate, I know he got in prison there.'

' And his wife ' ' Died of a broken heart, I believe.'

* Whab became of bhe child ?'

• I heard she was taken care of by the people in whose house the wife died while her father was in gaol.'

' Since he has been in prison this time you have seen him ?'

• Yes, twice on visiting days. There was some family matters I wanted to see him about.'

' Now, tell me, if you know—this young woman who helped him to commit the crime—she was his mistress, I suppose? ' ' Nothing of the kind. She was his daughter.' ' His daughter '.' exclaimed Mr Smith, trying to bring all the facts of the case back to his mind, 'that was ib, was ib? Why didn'b she say so ab the trial? Why did she keep her relationship a mystery ?' ' I believe there was some reason. I didn't have much time to go into thab with Jim ; there was a warder sitbing bebween us all the time, you know, and Jim evidently didn't want to say too much, but I understood as she was his gal.'

' Don't you know yourself ? Can't you form any idea why she concealed the true relationship ?'

The carpenter shrugged his shoulders. ' She was a curious, retercent sort of gal, I believe, and kept her troubles to herself. I believe that she hadn't seen her father for years till they met accidentally, and then she went to live with him. I never saw her after she was a child and went to America. I heard that she came over to England long before he did, and supported herself, but that's only what I gathered from Jim in the few minutes we had together.'

' You haven't been* to see her V

' No, she don't know me ; don't know of my existence, I dare say, for I never kept up any correspondence after Jim gob into trouble in the States. I thought the less I had to do with him the better for me.'

'Do you know that after she was £impri soned she became a mother ?'

' No !' exclaimed the carpenter, opening his eyes, 'I didn't. Jim never told me. P'raps he didn't know himself.' ' Perhaps not.' ' Poor girl, whab an awful thing for her, but I can'b understand ib. I bhoughb that she was a mosb quieb, respeotable girl from whab Jim said. Poor girl. Talk aboub bhe sins of the fathers coming on the children ; ib is true sometimes, ain'b ib ?' ' Yes, unfortunately. But about the poor girl; you can give me no idea of what she was before she went back to her father ?' ' No, I can'b, indeed. I tell you that the less I knew about Jim and his people bhe better I liked it. So the poor girl had a baby, born inthe prison, did the? Well,

so to speak, she's my own flesh and blood, and I'm sorry for it. I wish I hadn't knowed it/

' Thab is all the information you can give me ?'

' Yes, and now as I have given ib, perhaps you'll tell me what you want it for. How did you come to know about my niece having the baby ?' ' I've been to the prison. I learnt ib there.'

• You went to see her,' exclaimed the carpenter, suspiciously. * No, I went there on other business, and learnt her story quite accidentally. It interested me, and I wanted to see if I could find any of her relatives.'. ' You're not going to ask me to take the child, I suppose ?' exclaimed the carpenter. «NO.'

' That's rightj because I've seven of my own, and that'- quite as many as I can do with,'

' I had no idea of that sorb* but I'm glad I've found you. You are at any fate a relative ot the poor girl's, and if anything can be done for her or her child I shall leb you know.' '.Oh, thab's all righb. I'm very sorry for bhe girl, I give you my word, and I should b_ glad if anybhing could be done for her when she comes but, &_ I bslieve she wouldn't have done as she did bu6 fot her father. I daresay he forced her to it. He never leb man, woman, or child sband in his way, and he never bhoughb of anybody bub himself, and a nice mess he's made of it.' The stage carpenter finished his ale, and said thab he musb be going—he was wanbed oil bhe Stage', and he'd stayed too long already. Mr Smith thanked him for the- information he had given, and before he had left gave him his solemn promise that he would nob divulge bis relabionship to the convicts to anyone who was likely to come in contact with him.

With this assurance bhe carpenter professed himself sa&tied and returned to the theatre. Left alone, the dramatist thought over all that he had learned and tried to see in what way it affected the situation. The girl was Garth's daughter—there was no doubt about that. Then came the question who Was the father of her child. He presumed that the poor girl, previous to meeting her father, had contracted one of those illegal unions which are unforrunately boo common, and thab bhe punishment of her faulb had fallen bhus enbirely upon herself. * The man must have been a coward,' he said, ' nob to come forward, not to make some inquiry at the prison for bhe poor woman who had to suffer so terribly for her faith to him. ' Perhaps ho had inquired, perhaps he had visited hen Buthe thought if ib had been so he should have heard of it through Captain Danvers, as the matron would have told him when the application was made about the child. No, wherever the father of the poor little one was he had kept out of the way

Thab was whab Mr Smith considered after thinking the matter carefully oub. The information he had obtained so far would fail to benefit the female convict in the eyes of the law. She was the male criminal's daughter, bub that did not compel her to be his accomplice. If a father and daughter commit a crime together, the daughter, being a grown-up woman, could not claim thab she was forced inbo the act by her father's exercise of authority. The net result of all thab Mr Smith had learned, therefore, came to this. The woman at the time she assisted her father to commit a robbery and to get rid of the proceeds, had a lover, and that- lover was the man who ought to be found for the sake of the child.

' I should like bo find bhe fellow,' thought Mr Smith to himself, ' and tell him what I think of him. But I might as well, with the few facts I have to go upon, look for a needle in a bobtle of hay unless the girl herself would reveal the secret.' But the girl was dying, and even if she recovered she would probably be as silent in the future as she had been in the past. Her lover's name was never likely to pass her lips. A month after his interview with the carpenter of the Theatre, the prison baby was in Mrs Winslow's house. The poor mother had justified the prognostication of the matron and had passed away, to be tried for her earthly crimes before the all-merciful Judge.

• They brought the baby to her as she was dying. She opened her eyes and looked yearningly at the face of her baby girl. The child recognising her said ' Mum-mum,' and smiled.

The dying woman motioned to them to put the child near her. They placed its little face close to hers, and she pressed her clammy lips bo ibs sofb, white cheek.

She murmured something which was indisbincb to those who stood beside her bed, and then she gave a long, deep sigh and died.

The child, by bhe direction of Capbain Danvers, who had inberesbed himself greatly in the case, was taken the next day to Mrs Winslow, who took the poor little motherless prison baby to 'her breast, and wept many womanly tears over ib, and promised to love it as though it had been her own.

Mr Smith, the dramatist, came almost every day to see ib ; and bhe child book to him ab once, and was never so happy as when ib was upon his knee. The child had been chrisbened Amy.

When Mr Smith discovered the child's name, ib gave him a slight pang ; for Amy had been his wife's name—Amy Brown, not a romanbie name—neb the name in which bhe girl acted, but the name which she told her husban 1 was her real one.

In Little Amy, as the child grew to be called, the dramatist found a new source of delight. When he was weary and worn oub wibh bhe cares and anxieties of his profession, he would go round to his sister's and romp with Little Amy. And it was at such a time that the regret he felt for the loss of his wife was intensified. Had she been true to him such a child as this might now have been upon his knees—his own, his very own.

Ib was aboub a year after Little Amy came into Mr Smith's family circle that' one day Capbain Danvers, his old friend, drove up bo Mr Smibh'e door in a hansom and asked to see the masber ab once.

He was informed thab Mr Smith was at the house of his sister, Mrs Winslow, and thither the Captain drove at once. He was shown into the drawing-room, and presently Mr Smith came in. •I'm so glad you've come,' he said. 'I want to show you the prison baby. Hasn'b she grown ?'

The Captain looked at the golden-haired, blue-eyed girl, who, holding Mr Smith's hand, was just about to toddle, and then he picked the child up and took ib on his knee.

• What a strange sad story this poor mite's is,' he said. ' You can't think how glad I am, Smith, old fellow, that you and your good sister rescued it from its fate and made ib as your own child.'

' Nob more glad than I am, old fellow. I love it as if it were my own.'

The Captain pub the child down, and Mr Smith took it upon his knee, smoothing bhe little golden curls lovingly as he did so.

' Dad, dad,' said the child crowing and laughing as he gave it a ride to Banbury Cross.

'Ib calls me dad, you see,' said Mr Smibh wibh a smile. ' Ibs adopbed me and bo misbake.'

' It's a wise child,' said the Captain, Then he added in a more serious tone of voice, ' I've got a long story to tell you, old fellow, so just sib bhere as quieb as you can and leb me get it out. The man who called himself Garth is dead.'

' Whab ! did he die ia prison ?' ' Yes, he met wibh an accident. Ib is presumed that he was trying to escape. Ab any rate be was found one afternoon after

exercise lying on the ground near the wall with a broken bacS.*

' Poor devil! 'He knew that he coulchVfcrecover, and before he died he sent for the prison chaplain and mada a confession. 5 ' Yes, yes !' exclaimed Mr Smibh eagerly. *He told the chaplain the whole story of the crime for which he had been condemned, and as it interests you for the child's sake, I musb tell ib from beginning bo end. ' Afber relating bhe events of his career, which had long been a criminal one he told the chaplain that on his return to England he discovered that his daughter, whom he had lost sight of for years, had been earning her own living and was married to a respectable and wealthy man. ' Ho tracked her down, obtained an interview, and let her know thab her father was a notorious swindler and bhief. He bried to levy blackmail upon the girl, and finding she was terrified, he declared thab he would seek an interview with her husband and geb money from him. " ' When he knows what his father-in-law is," the wretch said, "he'll stand him a good round annual to keep out of the way, I know." 'The girl was so horrified that she begged her father to give her time to see wha. could be done. 'Her husband was away. The father came again and again, had long and private interviews with his daughter, and one night they left the house together. ' The girl left a note for her husband behind her—leaving him to think [the worsb. Her fabher had made a proposibion to her and she had agreed to it, rather than that her husband should know that she was a thief's daughter and be blackmailed by that thief for the rest of his life. 'The man, ib seems, wanted an accomplice to help him in a series of great jewel robberies which he had long been contemplating. 'He did nob tell the girl this—he only said thab if she would come and be his daughter again he would not trouble her husband. . ' Mad with horror, her brain half turned, the poor girl consented. ' ' The first plot was a successful one. _ Ib was the jewel robbery in which the assistant was chloroformed and over a thousand pounds' worth of jewels obtained. He says that his daughter had not the slightest idea what he was going to do. But when he brought her inbo bhe room and told her bo bake the jewels to the light, she was terrified to do anything but obey. Then followed the crime, and both fled. Sho grew as fearful of arrest as the man, for she feared that if taken her husband might hear of the. case and recognise her byline description. ' From thab moment she was completely in the man's power, and when he told her to take a separate lodging near him, she did so, and by his command took some of bhe jewellery to pawn on the day she was arrested. ' He says that at bhis bime she was so beside herself wibh grief and terror that he could make her do anything by threaten ing thab if she did not he would go and make himself known to her husband. ' The rest you know. At the trial the poor girl preserved an absolute silence, except to say thab she was nob bhe man's wife. Somebhing prompted her to say that.' Mr Smibh had listened to the narrative so far in speechless horror. Once he had tried to speak, and the words failed him, but at last as the Captain paused he found his voice. , ~..,, ' Good God, Danvers,' he cried, ' this girl's story is the story of my—of my wife.' ' Yes, tho man confessed that his daughter was the wife of Mr Dinmore Smijh, the dramatist, who bad obtained a divorce on the strength of her letter and flight with him, and'her continued absence.' • Stay—let us think ib all oub. Only give me air, open the windows. Let me see, this crime was committed about a month after my wife left me.'

'Yes.' * lb was a monbh before she was sen tenced

'Yes.' ' Ib was aboub five monbhs afber she had been in—prison bhab her baby was born ?' 'Yes.' The distracted man looked from the Captain to the child upon his knee. ' My little one,' he cried, ' my own child. The prison baby was mine—mine ; and my poor girl lay there dying, and I so near her and never saw her. Great God, ib is too terrible !' 'My poor friend,' said the Captain, • God's ways are inscrutable. After all ib was perhaps for bhe besb when things had gone so far. The crime had been commibted, the prison taint was upon her, she could never have come out into the world again the same woman that you knew and loved. She would have felb bhab bhis was a greab bar between you, and that she must have done you an injury had she returned a convict to be your wife again.' * My poor girl, my poor wronged girl,' cried the man, his.eyes filling with bears. ' At the very time that the law was releasing me from her, as a guilty woman she was dying broken-hearted in the prison to which" she had gone to save me from shame.'

There are some griefs which are too sacred to dwell upon. Such a grief was that of the man who heard too late the true story of the wife whom he had believed to be faithless to him. But all griefs yield in a measure to Time, the great consoler; and the day came at last when Little Amy's father could sib and think calmly of tho past. And at that time he was supremely thankful to the Providence which bad led him in such a mysterious way bo rescue the prison baby and to learn to love it as his own child long before he really knew that it was so.

He has placed a beautiful monument to his wife in the cemetery, to which he obtained permission to move her, and there is a lovely garden planted around it. And sometimes, when the day is bright and warm, he takes his little girl with him to the cemetery, and tells her to lay the sweet posy of flowers, which he had gathered for her in their little garden, upon the marble monument.

And then, kissing the little one by the lasb resting-place of his lost wife, he takes her hand, and they go quietly home together ; and in the clasp of that little hand he finds at once his consolation for the past and his hope for the future.

The End.