LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 365, 20 February 1863, Page 5

LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET.

By the Author of " Lady Lisle, " Aurora Floyd,"-&c. (From the Sixpenny Magazine.) CHAPTER XX. MRS. PLOWSON. Amongst the packet of letters which Rohert Audley had found in. George's trunk, there was one labelled with the name of the missing man's father—the father, who had never been too indulgent a friend to his younger son, and who had gladly availed himself of the excuse afforded by George's imprudent marriage to abandon the young man to his own resources. Robert Audley had never seen Mr Harcourt Talboys; but George's careless talk of his father had given his friend some notion of that gentleman's character. He had written to Mr Talboy's immediately after the disappearance of George, carefully wording his letter, which vaguely hinted at the writer's fear of some foul play in the mj'sterious business; and after the lapse of several weeks, he had received a formal epistle, in which Mr Harcourt Talboys expressly declared that he had washed his hands of all responsibility in his Fon George's affairs upon the young man's wedding day; and that his absurd disappearance was only in character with his preposterous marriage. The writer of this fatherly letter added in a postscript that if Mr George Talboys had any low design of alarming his friends by this pretended disappearance, and thereby playing on their feelings with a view to pecuniary advantage, he was most egregiously deceived in the character of those persons with whom he had to deal. Robert Audley had answered this letter by a few indignant lines, informing. Mr Talboys that his son was scarcely likely to hide himself for the furtherance of any deep-laid design on the pockets of his relatives, as he had left twenty thousand pounds in his bankers' hands at the time of bis disappearance. After despatching this letter, Robert had abandoned all thought of assistance from the man who, in the natural course of things, should have been most interested in George's fate; but now that he found himself advancing every day some step nparer to the end that lay so darkly before him, his mind reverted to this heartlessly-indifferent Mr Harcourt Talboys. '• 1 will run into Dorsetshire after I leave Southampton," he said, " and see this man. If he is content to let his son's fate rest a dark and cruel mystery to all who knew him—if he is content to go down to his grave uncertain to the last of this poor fellow's end—why should I try to unravel the tangled skein, to fit the pieces of the terrible puzzle, and gather together the stray fragments which when collected may make such a hideous whole ? I will go to him and lay my darkest doubts freely before him. It will be for him to say what I am to do." Robert Audley started by an early express for Southampton. The snow lay thick and white upon the pleasant country through which he went; and the young barrister had wrapped himself in so many comforters and railway rugs as to appear a perambulating mass of woollen poods rather than a living member of a learned profession. He footed gloomily out of the misty window, opaque with the breath of himself and an elderly Indian officer, who was his only companion, and watched the fleeting landscape which had a certain phantom-like appearance in its shroud of snow. He wrappedhimself hj the vast folds of his railway rug with a. peevish shiver, and felt inclined to quarrel with the destiny which cpmpelled him to travel by an early" train upon a pitiless winter's day. '■' Who wo,u]|d have thought that I could have grown so, fond of the fellow," he muttered, "or feel so lonely without him ? I've a comfortable little fortune in the three per I'm heir-presumptive to my uncle's

title ; and I know of a certain dear, girl, who, as I think, would do her hest .to -make'me happy; but I declare that I would"freely give up all and stand penniless in the world tomorrow, if this mystery could he satisfactorily cleared away, and George Talboys stand hy my side." * , ;. '~■ He reached Southampton between eleven and twelve o'clock, and walked across the platform, with the snow drifting in his face, towards the pier and lower end of the town. The clock of St Michael's Church was striking twelve as he crossed the quaint old square in which tliat edifice stands, and groped his way through the narrow streets leading down to the water. Mr Maldon had established his slovenly household gods in one of those dreary thoroughfares which speculative builders love to raise upon some miserable fragment of waste ground hanging to the skirts of a prosperous town. Brigsome's-terrace was perhaps one of the most dismal blocks of building that was ever composed of brick and mortar since the first mason plied his trowel and the first architect drew his«,plan. The builder who had speculated in the ten dreary eight-roomed prison-houses hung himself behind the parlour door of an adjacent tavern while the carcases were yet unfinished. The man who had bought the brick and mortar skeletons had gonthrough theßankruptcy Court while the paperhangers were still busy in Brigsome's-terrace, and had whitewashed his ceiling and himself simultaneously. 11l luck and insolvency clung to the wretched habitations. The bailiff and the broker's man were as well known as the butcher and the baker to the noisy children who played upon the waste ground in front of the parlour windows. Solvent tenants were disturbed at, unhallowed hours by the noise of ghostly furniture vans creeping stealthily away in the moonless night. Insolvent tenants openly defied the collector of the water-rate from their, ten-roomed strongholds, and existed for weeks without any visible means of procuring that necessary fluid. Robert Audley looked about him with a shudder as he turned from the waterside into this poverty-stricken locality. A child's funeral was leaving one of the houses as he approached, and he thought with a thrill of horror tliat if the little coffin had held George's son, he would have been in some measure responsible for the boy's death. '•The poor child shall not sleep another night in this wretched' hoVel," he thought, as he knocked at the door of Mr Maldon'B house. "He is the legacy of my lost friend, and it shall be my business to secure his safety." A slipshod servant girl opened the door, and looked at Mr Audley rather suspiciously, as she asked him, very much through her nose, what he pleased lo want. The door of the little sitting-room was ajai', and Robert could hear the clattering of knives and forks, and the childish voice of little George -prattling gaily. He told the servant that he had come from London, that he wanted to see Master Talboys, aud that he would announce himself; and walking past her, without further ceremony, he opened the door of the parlour. The girl stared at him aghast as he did this; and as if struck by some sudden and terrible conviction, threw her apron over her head and ran out into the snow. She darted across the waste ground, plunged into a narrow alley, and never drew breath till she found herself upon the threshold of a certain lavern called the Coach and Horses, and much affected by Mr Maldon. The lieutenant's faithful retainer had taken Robert Audley for some new and determined collector of poor's rates —rejecting that gentleman's account of himself as an artful fiction devised for the destruction of parochiali/lefaulters—and had hurried off to give her master timely warning of the enemy's * approach* , When Robert entered the sitting-room he was surprised to find little George seated opposite to a woman who was doing the honors of a shabby repast, spread upon a dirty tablecloth, aud flanked by a pewter beer measure. The woman rose as Robert entered, and curtsied very humbly to the young barrister. She looked about fifty years of age, and was dressed in rusty widow's weeds. Her complexion was insipidly fair, and the two smooth bands of hair beneath her cap were of that sunless flaxen hue which . generally accompanies pink cheeks and white eyelashes. She had been a rustic beauty perhaps in her time, but her features, although tolerably regular.in their shape, had a mean, pinched look, as if they had been made too small for her face. This defect was peculiarly noticeable in her mouth which was an obvious misfit for the sat of teeth it contained. She smiled as she curtsied to Mr Robert Audley, and her smile, which' laid bare the greater part of this set of square, hungrylooking teeth, by no means added to the. beauty of. her pei sonal appearance. VMr Maldon is not at home, sir" she said, with insinuating civility; " but if it's for the water-rate', he requested me to say that " She was interrupted by little George Talboys, who scrambled down from the high chair upon which he had been perched, and ran to Robert Audley. " I know you," he said; " you came to Ventnor with the big gentleman, and you came here once, and you gave me some money, and I gave it to pranpa to take care of, and granpa kept it, and he always does." - Robert Audley took the boy in his arms, and carried him to a little table in the window. "Stand there, Georgey," he said; "I want to have a good look at you." He turned the boy's face to the light, and pushed tlie brown curls off his forehead with both hands. "You're growing more like your father every day, Georgey ; and you're growing quite a man, too," he said; " would you like to go to school?' " Oh, yes, please, i should like it very much," the boy answered, eagerly. • " I went to school at Miss Pevins's once—day-school, you know—-round the corner in the next street; but I caught the measles, and granpa. wouldn't let me go any more, for fear I should catch the measles again; and grandpa won't let me play with the little boys in the street, because they're rude boys; he said blackguard boys; but he said-I must'nt say black- ■' guard boys, because it's naughty. He says damn and devil, but he says he may because he's aid. I shall say damn and devil when I'm old; and I should like to go to school, please, and I can go to-day, if you like; Mrs Plowson will get my frocks ready, won't you, Mrs Plowson ?" " Certainly, Master Georgey, if your grandpa wishes it," the woman answered, looking rather uneasily at Mr Robert Audley. " What on earth is the ' matter with this woman ?" thought Robert, as he turned from the boy to the fair-haired widow, who was edging herself slowly towards the table upon which little George Talboys stood talking to his guardian. " Does she still take me for a tax-collector with inimical- intentions towards these wretched goods and chattels; or' can the cause of her fidgety manner lie deeper still? That's scarcely likely, though; for whatever secrets Lieutenant Maldon may have, it's not very probable that tbis woman has any knowledge of them." Mrs Plowson had edged herself close to the little table by this time, aud was making a stealthy descent upon the boy, when Robert tm.ued sharply round.

" Wlmt are yoxrgoing to do with the child?" - he» SI was only going tatake him away to wash hi'-** oretty face/ sir, and smooth-his hair, * hnswered'the woman, in the _#nic insinuating Sein whfch she had spoken of,the waterrate "'You don't see him to any advantage, sir; precious face is dirty. J^' be rive minutes making bun as neat as a .new ' P'She had ber long thin arms about the boy ~ she poke, and she was evidently gmng to c_4 hiln/off bodily, when Robert stopped he»l'd rather see him as he is, thank you "he •aid "My time in Southampton »at very • S_, and I want to hear all that the little man CaT_Yffie' man crept closer to Robert, and looked ?onfidTngly Into the hamster's grey ey"ilike you very much," he.said "I wns friditened of you when yOu enme before, he, Sj was-shy. n I am not shy now-ln. npnrlv six years old. :. Robert patted the boy's Jiead encouragingly. biithe-VM not looking at litte George; he Wit watching the fair-haired widow, who n»< moved to the window, and was looking out at the patch of waste ground* "I'ou're; rather fidgctty about some one, ma'am.l'ih afraid," said Robert. ; She colored violently as tlie barrister mai.e /this remark;-and answered him in aconiused looking for Mr Maldon, sir," she said; "he'll be so diappointed if he doesnt gee you.".*'.''*' _ _„ * " You know who I am. then ? "No sir, but " The boy interrupted her by dragging a little.jewelled watch from his bosom, and •showing it to Robert. _■.''• "This is the watch the pretty lady gave, me "he said. "I've got it now-*but-l-haven't had it long, because the jeweller who cleans it is an idlcninn. granpa says, and always keeps it such a long time; and gran| a says it will have to bechaiied again, because of the taxes He always take's.it to be cleaned when there's taxes—but he says, if he were to lose it, the pretty lady would give me another. Do you know th« pretty lady ? " .■..-. " No, Georgey, but tell me all about her. Mrs Plowson made another descent upon the boy. She was armed with a pocketiiandkerchicf this time, and displayed gnat anxiety'about the state of little Georgey s aiose, but Robert warded off the dieaded .weapon,,and drew the child away from his tormentor. . . . •• " The boy will do very well, ma am, lie said, "if you'll be goi.d «nougli to let him atone for five minutes. Now, Gtorgey, suppose you sit on my knee, and tell me all about ihe pretty lady.". The child clambered from the fable on to Mr Audley's knees, esfi-tiug his descent by a very unceremonious manipulation of his guardian's coat collar. "I'll tell you all about the pretty lady," he said, '(because I like you very much Grandpa told me not to tell anybody, but I'll tell you, you know, because I like you, and because you're goin-j: to 'aite me to school. The pretty lady came htre one night—l-.n,_ •ago —oh, so long a_o," said the boy, shaking Jim head, with a face whose solemnity was expressive of some prodigious lapse of time. *' She came when I was not nearly so big as 1 am now—and she came at night—after I'd gone to bed, and she came up into my room, .and sat upon the bed, and cried—and she left She watch under my pillow, and she Why .do you make faces at me, Mrs Plowson ? 1 may tell this gentleman," Georgey added, _udde_ly addressing the widow,-. Who was •landing behind Robert's shoulder. Mrs Plowson mumbled some cenfused apology to the effect that she was afraid Master George was troublesome. .."Suppose you wait till I say so, ma'am, before you stop the little fellow's mouth," said Robert. Audley, sharply. " A suspicious per •on might think from your manner, that Mr Maldon and you had some conspiracy between you, and that you were afraid of what the boy's talk may let slip." - He rose from his chair, and looked full at *Mrs Piowsou as he said this. Th. fair-haired ■widow's, face' was as white as her cap when ■he tried to answer him, and her pale lif.s were, so dry that ihe was ob iged to wet therewith her tongue before the words would •come. The little boy relieved her embarrassanent. " Don't be cross to Mrs Plowson." he said. •"Mrs Plowson is very kind to me. Mrs Plowson is Matilda's mother. You don't know Matilda/ Poor Matilda was always crying ; she was ill, she -" The boy was stopped by the sudden appearance of Mr Maldon; who stood on the threshold of the'!parlor-ddor, staring at Robert Audley with a half-drunken, half-terrified aspect, scarcely con.-tent with the dignity of a retiredt naval officer. The servant girl, breathless, and .panting, stood close hehind her master. Early in.the day.though it was the old-manY speech was thick and confused, as he addressed himself fiercely to Mrs Plowson. '•' '(.You're a prett' creature to call yoursel' 'sensible woman !" he said. "'Why don't you taketh' chile 'way,- er wash 's face ? Dyer want to'ruin me? Dyer wa. tto 'stroyme? Take th' chile /way ! . Mr Audley,. sir I'm rer'-glad td'seeyer ; ver' 'appy to 'ceive yer in m' bumbl' 'bode," the old man added, with tipsy, politeness,-"' dropping into a chair as he tpoke, and trying to look steadily at his unexpected visitor. "AVhateyerHhis man's secrets arc," thought Robert^as Mrs Plowson hustled little George Talboys out. df'the" room, " that woman has no unimportant/share of them. Whatever the mystery may be,itgrows darker and thicker at every step; but I try in vain to draw ba-k or t6"st£p:6l!ort;oport theroad, lor a strong, r hand-tban-niyown is pointir g the way to my lostfriencTs'-unknown grave." \t-.ti:... ~(']'d! be continued. ) ■■inn iw■^■■-—w*_■—■■n'i_—■■■ _Mi__i—iwinhiii iiPßiiwiiiiiw imwi i in i