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The Vast Abyss, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 19 |
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_ CHAPTER NINETEEN. David went back to his gardening, giving Tom a smile and a nod, and whispering to him as he followed his uncle after locking up the workshop and the yard gate-- "You and me's good friends again, arn't we, Master Tom?" "Yes, of course, David; and I beg your pardon for ever suspecting you." "Oh, that's all right, sir. It was six o' one and half-a-dozen o' the other. I thought it was you, and you thought it was me, and--" "Come, Tom," said Uncle Richard; and the boy hurried forward, and did not hear the end of David's speech. "Mind we put a secure fastening on those lower windows to-morrow morning," said Uncle Richard thoughtfully. "We ought to be able to live down in a place like this without nocturnal visitors; but there, one never knows." They walked on pretty sharply till the cottages were reached; and as soon as the visitors came up to the gate the curious-looking old woman appeared at the open door, shading her eyes with her hand, and peering at them as they walked down the path. "It's of no use to come here," she cried loudly. "Don't want any. No money to buy anything. Go to the rich gentlefolk and sech." "You old impostor!" said Uncle Richard softly. "You can see who we are plainly enough." "D'yer hear? Don't want any to-day." "Now, Mrs Warboys, I want to see your grandson." "Hey?" "I say I want to see your grandson." "What?" "I want to see your grandson." "Who are you? Haven't you got anything to sell?" "You know I have not. You can see well enough when you come for help." "Hey? Who are you?" "You know me. I am from Heatherleigh." "Oh, it's you. I thought you wanted to sell calicoes and flannels. What did you bring your pack for? What's in it? Oh, I see, it arn't a pack at all; it's a boy. What d'yer want?" "I told you I want to see your grandson." "What for?" "I want to ask him a few questions." "Ah, that's no good. He says he had so many asked him at school that he'll never answer no more." "Where is he? Call him," said Uncle Richard. "He arn't at home, and you can't see him." "How long will he be?" "I d'know. P'raps he won't come back no more, so you needn't come poking about here." "When did he go out last?" said Uncle Richard. "Last week I think, but my mind arn't good now at figgers. Tell me what you want, and if ever I see him again I'll tell him." "We are wasting time, Tom," said Uncle Richard in a whisper. "Yes," said the old woman viciously; "you're wasting time. It's no use for you to come here to try and get things to say again my poor boy. I know you and your ways. You want to get him sent away, I know; and you're not going to do it. I know you all--parson and doctor, and you, Brandon, you're all against my poor innocent boy; but you're not going to hurt him, for you've got me to reckon with first." "Your sight and hearing seem to have come back pretty readily, Mrs Warboys." "You never mind that," cried the old woman. "I know what I'm saying, and I'm not afraid of any of you." Just then one of the women from the next cottages came out and curtseyed to them. "Don't take any notice of what she says, sir. She's a bit put out to-day." "So it seems," said Uncle Richard. "Let me see, Mrs Deane, isn't it?" "Yes, sir," said the woman, smiling. "You can tell me then where is Pete Warboys?" The old woman literally shrieked out-- "Let her say a word if she dares. She'd better. She hasn't forgotten what I did to--Ah! look at that." She uttered the last words triumphantly, for the woman turned and ran hurriedly into her cottage. "Come along, Tom," said Uncle Richard; "we are doing no good here;" and he turned and led the way down toward the gate, with the old woman shrieking out a torrent of words after them, and playing an accompaniment formed of slaps upon the door till they were out of hearing. "What a terrible old woman!" said Tom at last. "That Mrs Deane seemed quite frightened of her." "Yes; the poor ignorant people here believe that she has the power to do them harm; and in spite of all Mr Maxted tells them, he cannot shake their faith." "What shall you do now, uncle?" "Nothing, my boy, upon second thoughts. I am afraid we should not be able to prove that this young scoundrel did the mischief without calling in the police, and that I am very loth to do." "But he ought not to be allowed to go about doing such things as that, uncle," said Tom warmly. "It gets the wrong people suspected." "Yes," said Uncle Richard dryly; "and perhaps we are suspecting the wrong person now." "But who else could it be, uncle?" "Some tramp perhaps, on the way to London. No, Tom, I don't think we will waste our time in trying to bring the misdoing home to Mr Pete Warboys, and then appearing before the magistrates to punish him. We had better set to work and polish a new speculum." "Then you will make another?" said Tom eagerly. "Of course, my boy. I shall write off for two fresh discs to-night." "One will do, uncle." "No, boy; we must have two, and begin as before. The lower one is useless now, unless I keep it for a polishing tool." _ |
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