That Stick ...

Then came the idea of Louisa Hall, inspired by seeing her speak to little Michael on the beach, and obtain his pretty smiles and exclamation of ‘Lou, Lou! mine Lou!’ for he had certainly liked this girl better than Ellen, who was wanting in life and animation.  Ida knew that Sam Jones, alias Rattler, was going out to join his brother in Canada, and that Louisa was vehemently desirous to accompany him, but had failed to satisfy the requirements of Government as to character, so as to obtain a free passage, and was therefore about to be left behind p. 237in desertion and distress.  She might beguile Michael away quietly and carry him to Canada, where, as it seemed, there were any amount of farmers ready to adopt English children—a much better lot, in Ida’s eyes, than the little Tyrolese impostor deserved.  She even persuaded herself that she was doing an act of great goodness, when, at the price of her teapot, she obtained that Louisa should be married by the registrar to Sam Jones, and their passage paid, on condition of their carrying away Michael with them.  The man was nothing loth, having really a certain preference for Louisa, and likewise a grudge against Lord Northmoor for having spoilt that game with Miss Morton, which might have brought the means for the voyage.

They were married on Whit Monday, and Ida was warned that if she and Louisa could not get possession of the child by Wednesday, he would be left behind.  Louisa was accordingly on the watch, and Ida hovered about, just enough completely to put the nurses off their guard.  They heard Michael’s imploring call of ‘Willie!  Willie!’ and then Louisa descended on him with coaxings and promises, and Ida knew no more, except that, as she had desired, a parcel had been sent her containing the hat and shoes.  The spade she had herself picked up.

When Rose had seen them, they had no doubt been on their way to Liverpool.

It seemed to be Herbert’s horror-stricken look that first showed his sister the enormity of what she had done, and when she pleaded ‘for your sake,’ he made such a fierce sound of disgust, that she only durst add further, ‘Oh, Herbert, you will not tell?’

p. 238‘Not find him?’ he thundered.

‘No, no; I didn’t mean that!  But don’t let them know about me!  Just think—’

‘I must think!  Get away now; I can’t bear you near!’

And just then a voice was heard, ‘Miss Hider, Miss Hider, your ma wants you!’

p. 239CHAPTER XXXV

THE QUEST

Herbert had made no promises, but as he paced up and down the shingle after his sister had gone in, he had time to feel that, though he was determined to act at once, the scandal of her deed must be as much as possible avoided.  Indeed, he believed that she might have rendered herself amenable to prosecution for kidnapping the child, and he felt on reflection that his mother must be spared the terror and disgrace.  His difficulties were much increased by the state of quarantine at Northmoor, for though the journey to Malvern had been decided upon, neither patient was yet in a state to attempt it, and as one of the servants had unexpectedly sickened with the disease, all approach to the place was forbidden; nor did he know with any certainty how far his uncle’s recovery had advanced, since Bertha, his chief informant, had gone abroad with Mrs. Bury, and Constance was still at Oxford.

He went home, and straight up to his room, feeling it intolerable to meet his sister; and there, the first sleepless night he had ever known, convinced p. 240him that to the convalescents it would be cruelty to send his intelligence, when it amounted to no more than that their poor little boy had been made over to an unscrupulous woman and a violent, good-for-nothing man.

‘No,’ said Herbert, as he tossed over; ‘it would be worse than believing him quietly dead, now they have settled down to that.  I must get him back before they know anything about it.  But how?  I must hunt up those wretches’ people here, and find where they are gone; if they know—as like as not they won’t.  But I’ll throw everything up till I find the boy!’  He knelt up in his bed, laid his hand on his Bible—his uncle’s gift—and solemnly swore it.

And Herbert was another youth from that hour.

When he had brought his ideas into some little order, the foremost was that he must see Rose Rollstone, discover how much she knew or guessed, and bind her to silence.  ‘No fear of her, jolly little thing!’ said he to himself; but, playfellows as they had been, private interviews were not easy to secure under present circumstances.

However, the tinkling of the bell of the iron church suggested an idea.  ‘She is just the little saint of a thing to be always off to church at unearthly hours.  I’ll catch her there—if only that black coat isn’t always after her!’