The Two Mrs. Abbotts (17 page)

Early the following morning Wilhelmina was washing the doorstep at Ganthorne Lodge when suddenly she heard footsteps behind her and saw Colonel Melton coming up the path. She was very pleased to see him, for she liked the colonel; their acquaintance had started when Wilhelmina was merely Elmie Boles. Several times when Elmie was on her way home from school the colonel had stopped her and talked to her kindly and given her a sixpence—one did not forget things like that.

“Good morning, Wilhelmina,” said Colonel Melton, smiling. He knew her history, of course, and, although he was of the opinion that it was exceedingly wrong—in fact positively criminal—to keep the child at Ganthorne without telling her parents, he was obliged to admit that good had come out of evil. Most extraordinary, thought the colonel, looking at her. Almost incredible, the change in the girl.

The girl had been a miserable, wispy, furtive little creature with tousled hair and a peaky face—now she looked healthy and happy and she wore an air of importance that sat quaintly upon her childish shoulders.

“You look very pleased with yourself,” said Colonel Melton in a friendly manner.

Wilhelmina nodded. “I got my wages,” she replied. “I've earned them, too. Miss Marks said that.”

“Good work. What are you going to buy?”

“A skirt,” said Wilhelmina. “And a jumper—a green one like Mrs. Abbott has.”

“You couldn't do better,” said the colonel gravely. He hesitated and then asked, “Is Mrs. Abbott in?”

“No, sir,” replied Wilhelmina, straightening herself and assuming an official air. “Mrs. Abbott's out exercising the 'orses—the horses, I mean. May I take a message, sir?”

Colonel Melton decided she was quite capable of delivering a message, as indeed she was. “Yes,” he said. “You might tell Mrs. Abbott that the sentries caught a man in the lines last night. He was brought into the guard room but he refused to give any account of himself beyond saying that he has business with Mrs. Abbott. I think perhaps Mrs. Abbott had better see him and, if she doesn't mind, I'll bring him up to the house after lunch—say about two. Can you remember that?”

Wilhelmina was staring at him wide-eyed. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, I'll tell her.”

He turned to go, but she ran after him and caught him by the sleeve. “Please, what's 'e like?” she said.

Colonel Melton noticed the slip and he could not help smiling. “Oh, he's a very harmless sort of fellow,” said the colonel. “Small and ferrety-looking, dressed in a dark-blue suit. You needn't be alarmed…”

Wilhelmina did not wait to hear any more. She turned and ran back to the house and dashed into the pantry, where Miss Marks was engaged in cleaning the silver.

“Miss Marks!” she cried. “Miss Marks, 'e's come!”

“He…has…come,” said Miss Marks firmly, taking up another spoon and polishing it industriously. “And, please Wilhelmina, do not caper about like that. You nearly upset the table.”

“
He
has
come!
” said Wilhelmina, her eyes starting out of her head. “
He
has
come
, Miss Marks—Oh, Miss Marks wotever shall I do?”

“Who has come?” asked Miss Marks, dropping the spoon and gazing at her protégée in alarm.

“It's 'im—it's Dad—'e's come to fetch me 'ome,” cried Wilhelmina, her aitches flying in all directions unheeded. “It's 'im, I know it's 'im—small an' ferrety—that's wot 'e sed—in a blue soot—that's 'is best.”

“Wilhelmina.”

“Ow dear, ow dear!” cried Wilhelmina, squeezing her hands together. “Ow, Miss Marks! I won't gow—I won't leave you nor Mrs. Abbott neither. You sed I needn't—an'
she
sed I needn't—an' I won't.”

“Compose yourself, Wilhelmina,” said Miss Marks, patting her on the back.

“'Ow can I?” she wailed. “'Ow can I? 'E'll take me—I'll have ter gow—I'll never be 'appy agen. I'll throw myself in the river—that's wot—”

“Come now,” said Miss Marks. “I told you that you were never to say such a wicked thing again.”

“But I'll 'ave ter gow—”

“You need not stay,” said Miss Marks in significant tones.

Wilhelmina was no fool—and she and Markie understood each other pretty well by this time—so she stopped crying at once and looked at Miss Marks.

Miss Marks nodded. “There now,” she said. “Be a sensible girl. There is nothing to be gained by tears and lamentations.”

“You'll 'ide me!” exclaimed Wilhelmina with dawning hope.

“I shall not hide you,” replied Miss Marks. “It would be foolish—for you would probably be found and a great deal of trouble might result. Tell me exactly what happened. Where did you see your father?”(Markie paused for a moment. She had a feeling that these words were familiar, they had a familiar ring, but there was no time to pin down the quotation now. ) “Where did you see your father,” repeated Miss Marks. “What did he say? Pull yourself together and explain the matter clearly.”

Wilhelmina did as she was told and Miss Marks was soon in possession of the facts of the case.

“You are sure it is your father?” asked Miss Marks.

“Small and ferrety-looking.”

“I know,” said Miss Marks hastily, “but there might be others answering to the same somewhat vague description.”

“It's 'im,” declared Wilhelmina, with emphasis.

Miss Marks nodded. “Very well, then…”

“Wot am I ter do?” asked Wilhelmina, but this time she asked it hopefully, her eyes upon her protector's face.

“Sit down and help me to clean the silver,” said Miss Marks firmly. “It will take me a little time to explain…”

***

At two o'clock precisely Colonel Melton walked up the path to the door of Ganthorne Lodge followed by Sergeant Frayle and the small ferrety-looking man in the blue suit. Jerry was waiting for them—she had been given Colonel Melton's message in his exact words—but she was a little taken aback when they walked in.

“Oh, it's Mr. Boles!” exclaimed Jerry in dismay.

“You know this man?” asked Colonel Melton.

“Yes, of course. It's Mrs. Boles's husband—that used to be at the cottage—he came down to see them once or twice.”

“Three toimes,” said Mr. Boles in a husky voice.

“Oh, it was three times?” said Jerry, helplessly. “I didn't—er—remember.”

Now that the cat was out of the bag Colonel Melton saw the whole thing and all its implications at a glance, for he had a quick and lucid mind. He saw Jerry's predicament, and, although she was in the wrong, he was very sorry for her. If he had had any inkling of the man's identity he might have arranged things differently (perhaps the man had guessed as much, perhaps that was the reason he had refused to speak) but it was too late now. Mrs. Abbott was in for an unpleasant half hour and he could do very little to help.

“State your business, Boles,” said Colonel Melton. “Mrs. Abbott is busy. We can't presume upon her time.”

“That's easy. I want my Elmie.”

“Elmie!” repeated Jerry, vaguely.

“Elmie,” said Mr. Boles. “My Elmie's 'ere. She's 'ere without 'er parients' permission. I've come ter take 'er 'ome.”

“But she doesn't want—” began Jerry and then she saw Colonel Melton shaking his head at her and stopped.

“Mrs. Abbott understood—” began Colonel Melton.

“I don't want no talk,” declared Mr. Boles in a truculent manner. “I wants my kid, that's all. She's my kid an' I wants 'er. Where is she?”

At this moment the door opened and Wilhelmina walked in (it almost looked as if she had been listening outside); her entrance was so unexpected and raised so many different sensations in the bosoms of the room's occupants that there was dead silence for a few moments. Wilhelmina was not discomposed. She stood there calmly, looking from one face to another and smiling to herself. She was dressed in her best frock—it was dark green serge—and her hair, which was smooth and shining, was tied at the side with a green ribbon.

“Elmie!” said Mr. Boles at last.

“Yes, Dad?” said Wilhelmina in questioning tones.

Mr. Boles did not reply. He was breathing heavily; he was gazing at his daughter with his mouth slightly open.

“Yes, Dad?” repeated Wilhelmina.

“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Boles, giving himself a shake and straightening his back. “Well, this is a noice thing, this is. Wot d'yer mean by it—eh? Walkin' out of the 'ouse an' never comin' back, froightnin' us out of our wits! That's a noice thing ter do, ain't it?”

Wilhelmina said nothing.

“Too good fer yer 'ome, ain't yer?” continued Mr. Boles, warming up a little. “Too good ter wash up dishes fer yer ma! Livin' on the fat of the land, ain't yer? Dressed up fit ter kill—ribbings on yer 'air an' wot not! Think yer a bit of okay, don't yer?”

Wilhelmina did not reply.

“Charity!” said Mr. Boles. “Livin' on charity, that's a noice thing, that is! That's a bit of a come down, ain't it?”

“I've got a job,” said Wilhelmina briefly.

“Got a job?”

“I'm a housemaid.”

“Ho, a 'ousemaid! A pide servant!” said Mr. Boles in disgust.

“Like you,” said Wilhelmina sweetly. “You get paid, too, don't you?”

“We are all paid servants,” said Colonel Melton, who had been listening to the conversation with a good deal of interest. “In fact Mrs. Abbott is the only person in the room who works hard and gets no pay.”

“She's a
capitalist
,” declared Mr. Boles.

“I wish I were!” exclaimed Jerry. “As a matter of fact—”

“I didn't come to talk,” said Mr. Boles, interrupting her with scant ceremony. “I come 'ere to taike Elmie 'ome. She don't want no jobs as 'ousemaids.”

“But I do!” cried Wilhelmina.

“Your ma wants yer,” said Mr. Boles, trying another tack. “Yer pore ma wants yer. She's bin porely.”

“I would rather stay here,” replied Wilhelmina but, for the first time, her voice faltered a little.

“You'll come 'ome, my girl. You'll come 'ome with me—an' no nonsense.”

“No.”

“I'll taike yer,” said Mr. Boles rising as he spoke. “I'll taike yer now, this minit, an' I'd loike ter see anyone stop me.”

Jerry half-expected to see Wilhelmina turn and fly, but she stood her ground manfully. “I suppose you could,” she said, measuring her parent thoughtfully. “You could take me 'ome by force, couldn't you?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Boles, but he said it doubtfully.

“You couldn't keep me there, could you?” said Wilhelmina with a little smile.

“Couldn't keep yer?”

Wilhelmina shook her head.

“Wot d'yer mean?”

“You couldn't keep me at 'ome—not unless you kep' me locked up all the time,” explained Wilhelmina.

Mr. Boles gazed at her in dismay. “Kep' yer locked up?”

Wilhelmina nodded.

“Strike me pink!” exclaimed Mr. Boles, envisaging the inconvenience of this drastic expedient.

“I'd just come back 'ere,” continued Wilhelmina, whose aitches were becoming a trifle shaky with excitement. “I wouldn't stay at 'ome—not one moment longer than I could 'elp.”

“But Elmie.”

“I got a job,” declared Wilhelmina. “I like it an' I get paid fer doin' it. You can take me 'ome if you want to—but I won't stay.”

Father and daughter stood and gazed at each other and suddenly Jerry saw that they were alike. Mr. Boles was pale and sharp featured and Wilhelmina was a very nice-looking child but there was a likeness all the same…they were both full of “spunk”; they were both strong-minded and independent. They stared at each other for several moments, measuring swords, and then Mr. Boles laughed…Everybody joined in the laughter, partly with relief and partly because it really was very funny indeed.

“Strike me pink!” cried Mr. Boles, between his spasms of mirth. “There's a kid for you! Knows 'er own moind, don't she? Well, it beats me—beats me 'ollow—I carn't get around it, no'ow!”

After that everything was easy and pleasant. Colonel Melton and the sergeant vanished and Markie appeared carrying a tray upon which were set out a bottle of beer, a glass and two sandwiches. Mr. Boles had no use for the sandwiches—he had dined already—but the beer was a different matter. He drank to his daughter, remarking that she was a chip off the old block and worth two of Arrol, and he drank to Mrs. Abbott, and to “the 'ouse.” He was about to drink the health of Miss Marks when he discovered that his glass was empty. Mr. Boles turned the bottle upside down and gave it a shake…and then he looked at his hostess, but she did not seem to understand.

“Oh well,” he said. “It was good while it larsted.”

As Wilhelmina had been given the afternoon off to go to Wandlebury and do her shopping, and, as Mr. Boles was obliged to catch the six o'clock train home, the two went off together in the bus.

“I suppose it's quite safe letting her go with him,” said Jerry as she and Markie watched them walking down the drive.

“Perfectly safe,” replied Markie. “Wilhelmina can see him off and come home before dark. One need have no apprehensions.”

“It was clever,” said Jerry thoughtfully. “You put her up to it, of course, you naughty old thing.”

“I made a few little suggestions,” admitted Markie with a satisfied air.

“You might have warned me.”

“No dear,” said Markie firmly. “It was essential that you should know nothing at all.”