A Little Mother to the Others, L. T. Meade [readict .txt] 📗

those blessed children, or my name's not Fortune Squeers. Did your mother bring me all the way from America to be of no use in an emergency like the present? You needn't fret any more, Iris; nor you either, Apollo. Just come right along to the house and have your cozy, warm supper, the two of you, and then let me undress you and put you into your old little beds, and I'll sleep in the room alongside of you, and in the morning we'll see about getting back those two children. Lost, is it? Not a bit of it. They are mislaid, if you like, but lost they aint—not while Fortune is above ground."

Fortune's strong words were of the greatest possible comfort to Iris. It is true that Aunt Jane had told her somewhat the same, day by day—Aunt Jane was also sure that the children were certain to be found—but, as far as Iris could gather, she only spoke, and never did anything to aid their recovery; for Iris had no faith in detectives, nor secret police, nor any of the known dignitaries of the law. But she put the greatest possible faith in the strong, cheery words of her old nurse, and she returned to the house clasping Fortune's hand, and feeling as if the worst of her troubles were at an end.

The greater part of Delaney Manor was shut up, and Fortune and two other old servants were left in charge; but very soon a comfortable meal was spread for the travelers, a room was provided for Uncle William, and Iris and Apollo slept once more in the dear old nursery.[248]

How very sound Iris did sleep that night! How happy she felt once more!

Fortune had dragged in her bed, and laid it on the floor close to the little girl's side, and the sound of Fortune's snores was the sweetest music Iris had listened to for a long time.

"Fortune will find the others, and I can be a real mother once more," she whispered over and over to herself.

And so she slept sweetly and dreamed happily, and awoke in the morning with color in her cheeks and hope in her eyes.

[249]

CHAPTER XXIV. ON THE TRAIL.

It was on the very evening that Orion and Diana had left the great circus that Uncle William and the two children arrived at Delaney Manor, for Delaney Manor was only five miles distant from the prosperous seaside town of Madersley.

Now, Uncle Ben had very little idea, when he brought the two children to the southwest of England, that he was really taking them back to their native country. These things, however, are ordered, and the wisest man in the world cannot go against the leadings of Providence. Uncle Ben thought to hide the children from their best friends, whereas, in reality, he was taking them home once more.

But two little circus children might wander about at their own sweet will at Madersley, and be heard nothing whatever of at Delaney Manor, and these little children might never have been found, and this story might have had a totally different ending, but for Fortune.

When Fortune, however, lay down on her mattress by Iris' side, she thought a great deal before she went to sleep. She thought, as she expressed it to herself, all round the subject, to the right of it, and to the left of it. She thought of it in its breadth, and she thought of it in its height, and, having finally settled the matter to her own satisfaction, she went to sleep,[250] and soothed little Iris with the comforting music of her snores.

On the following morning she had an interview with Mr. Dolman.

"I want to ask you a straight question, sir," she said. "What is it the police are doing? It seems a mighty strange thing to me that two little children should be lost in the middle of a civilized country like England."

"It seems a stranger thing to me," replied Uncle William. "I am dreadfully puzzled over the whole matter. We have now four detectives at work, but up to the present they have not got the slightest clew to the children's whereabouts."

"As like as not," said Fortune, "these two have been stolen by gypsies."

"We thought of that at once," said Uncle William.

"Yes," interrupted Fortune, "and then, when you couldn't make the thing fit, or find your clew, you dropped it. Now let me tell you, sir, that aint our way in America. When we get the faintest ghost of a clew we cling on to it as if it were grim death, and we don't let it go, not for nobody. It's my belief that gypsies are at the bottom of the matter, and why have not you and your detectives looked in every gypsy encampment in the length and breadth of England?"

"There were some gypsies in our neighborhood, only we did not know it the first day," continued Mr. Dolman, "and their camp was of course thoroughly examined, but no little people in the least resembling the children were found there."

"Then of course it goes without saying," continued Fortune, "that the gypsies passed on the little dears to other folk. Now the question is, What sort of folk[251] would be interested in a little pair like them? They was both young, both lissom, both handsome, and Miss Diana was the bravest child I ever come across—maybe they was sold to someone to train 'em to walk on the tight rope."

Uncle William smiled indulgently.

"The detectives would certainly have found that out by this time," he said. "Besides, there were no traveling companies of any sort within a radius of quite fifteen miles."

"Very well," said Fortune; "then, perhaps, sir, you'll allow me to manage things my own way. I aint a detective, but I'm bent on detective work for the time being. I'm going straight off to Madersley this morning. I'm going to have descriptions of those children printed in very big characters, and posted all over Madersley."

"And why specially all over Madersley?" asked Mr. Dolman.

"'Cos Madersley is, so to speak, their native town," answered Fortune. "Why, there aint a person in Madersley who don't know Delaney Manor; and strangers, when they come there, drive out to see Delaney Manor as they would any other big place, and folks at this time of year travel from far to stay at Madersley, because the place is bracing and the coast good for bathing. So you see, Mr. Dolman, there'll be lots of people who will read my descriptions, and when they read 'em they'll begin to talk about the children, and there's no saying what may happen."

"It doesn't sound a bad idea," said Mr. Dolman.

"Bad!" repeated Fortune. "It's a first-rate idea; it's an American idea. In America we never let the[252] grass grow under our feet. I'm off to Madersley this minute to see after those posters. Why, we post up everything in America, every single thing that is lost, let alone children, and we do it in big type, as big as they make it, and we put the posters on the walls, and wherever there's a scrap of available space. By your leave, sir, I'm off to Madersley now."

Fortune was as good as her word. She not only went to Madersley and interviewed some of the best printers in the place, but she also visited the police station, and told the police to be on the lookout.

"For the two youngest little Delaneys are missing," she said, "and found they must be, if heaven and earth are moved to accomplish the job."

The superintendent of police remembered that he had already had notice of two children being missing somewhere in the North of England, but as he thought it extremely unlikely that such children would come to the southwest, he had not troubled himself much about them. Fortune's words, however, stimulated his zeal, and he promised to keep a sharp lookout. The printer also was full of enthusiasm, and agreed to print posters which should even satisfy Fortune. He certainly did his best; and a day or two later flaming posters, in red and black ink, were pasted up all over the little town. In these, Fortune had given a most accurate description of little black-eyed Diana and Orion. Their ages were mentioned, their sizes, the color also of their eyes and hair.

The immediate effect of these posters was to frighten Uncle Ben Holt considerably. He had been in a dreadful rage when first he discovered that Diana and Orion had taken him at his word and had decamped. He had been very cruel to every member[253] of the troupe, and in especial to his poor wife. He vowed, and vowed, loudly, that he would not leave a stone unturned to find the children, and he also informed his wife that he would start off the following morning to acquaint the police with the fact that two of his troupe were missing.

"Why," he said, "there's a fortune in that little gal; I must have the little gal. I don't think nothing at all of the boy. She was quite the most sperited little 'un I ever come across. Fact is, I would not lose her for a fifty-pund note."

For two days Uncle Ben stormed, and the performances at the circus went languidly; but when, on the third morning, he saw the posters about the town, and when one happened to be pasted up exactly opposite his own circus, he began to cool down and to change his mind.

"Where are you, Sarah?" he called out.

His wife flew to answer the fierce summons of her lord and master.

"I'm here, Ben," she answered.

"'I'm here, Ben,'" he retorted, mimicking her tone. "There you are, Sarah, without the sperit of a mouse. Have you seen, or have you not, what's up all over the town?"

"Yes, to be sure," replied Sarah Holt; "and it's a faithful description of the children. Why, they are as like what that description says of 'em as two peas, Ben."

"I'm not saying they aint," snapped Ben, in a very indignant voice; "but what I do want to know is this—what's to be done if they are found and we are discovered to have bought 'em? We had all our plans arranged, and we have taken this field for a fortnight;[254] but, bad as the loss will be to ourselves, it'll be better than the perlice discovering that we had anything to do with them children. The fact is this, Sarah: I'm going to pack our traps and be off out of this, to-night at the latest."

"Perhaps you are right, Ben," said the woman, in a very sad tone; "only," she added, with a sigh, "if we are really going, may not I run up to Delaney Manor and just give 'em a hint? It seems so dreadful to me if anything should happen to them little kids, more particular to little Diana, who was the mortal image of my Rachel who died."

"If you do anything of the kind I'll kill you," roared the man. "Do you want to see me locked up in prison for kidnaping children? No; we must be out of this to-night, and I must lose the ten pund I paid for the use of the field."

By this time the news of the posters had spread not only through the whole town, but amongst the members of Ben Holt's troupe. The men and women in the troupe were all interested and excited, and whenever they had a spare moment they used to run out to read the poster which Fortune had been clever enough to dictate.

Meanwhile, that good woman herself was by no means idle.

"I have done something," she said to Iris, "and what I have done at Madersley ought to have been done before now all over the length and breadth of England. But now, Miss Iris, having put the posters up, it doesn't mean that we are to be idle. We have got to do more. I have my eye on that circus. They says it's a very pretty circus indeed, and there are a lot of entertaining spectacles to be viewed there.[255] Now, what do you say to you and me and Mr. Dolman, if he likes to come, and Master Apollo going this afternoon to see the performance?"

"I don't think I much care," answered Iris. "I don't seem to take any interest in anything just now."

"Well, all the same, dear, I would like you to go. The best of us can but take steps, and when we has taken the steps that Providence seems to indicate, there's no use a-fretting ourselves into our graves. Folks are coming