The Dead Secret, Wilkie Collins [best historical biographies .TXT] 📗

back of my own accord to the last farthing⁠—and so would you!”

The blood mantled in his cheeks as he spoke. Rosamond looked at him admiringly in silence. “Who would have him less proud,” she thought, fondly, “when his pride speaks in such words as those!”

“You understand now,” continued Leonard, “that we have duties to perform which will oblige us to seek help from others, and which will therefore render it impossible to keep the Secret to ourselves? If we search all England for her, Sarah Leeson must be found. Our future actions depend upon her answers to our inquiries, upon her testimony to the genuineness of that letter. Although I am resolved beforehand to shield myself behind no technical quibbles and delays⁠—although I want nothing but evidence that is morally conclusive, however legally imperfect it may be⁠—it is still impossible to proceed without seeking advice immediately. The lawyer who always managed Captain Treverton’s affairs, and who now manages ours, is the proper person to direct us in instituting a search, and to assist us, if necessary, in making the restitution.”

“How quietly and firmly you speak of it, Lenny! Will not the abandoning of my fortune be a dreadful loss to us?”

“We must think of it as a gain to our consciences, Rosamond, and must alter our way of life resignedly to suit our altered means. But we need speak no more of that until we are assured of the necessity of restoring the money. My immediate anxiety, and your immediate anxiety, must turn now on the discovery of Sarah Leeson⁠—no! on the discovery of your mother; I must learn to call her by that name, or I shall not learn to pity and forgive her.”

Rosamond nestled closer to her husband’s side. “Every word you say, love, does my heart good,” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. “You will help me and strengthen me, when the time comes, to meet my mother as I ought? Oh, how pale and worn and weary she was when she stood by my bedside, and looked at me and my child! Will it be long before we find her? Is she far away from us, I wonder? or nearer, much nearer than we think?”

Before Leonard could answer, he was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Rosamond was surprised by the appearance of the maidservant. Betsey was flushed, excited, and out of breath; but she contrived to deliver intelligibly a brief message from Mr. Munder, the steward, requesting permission to speak to Mr. Frankland, or to Mrs. Frankland, on business of importance.

“What is it? What does he want?” asked Rosamond.

“I think, ma’am, he wants to know whether he had better send for the constable or not,” answered Betsey.

“Send for the constable!” repeated Rosamond. “Are there thieves in the house in broad daylight?”

“Mr. Munder says he don’t know but what it may be worse than thieves,” replied Betsey. “It’s the foreigner again, if you please, ma’am. He come up and rung at the door as bold as brass, and asked if he could see Mrs. Frankland.”

“The foreigner!” exclaimed Rosamond, laying her hand eagerly on her husband’s arm.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Betsey. “Him as come here to go over the house along with the lady⁠—”

Rosamond, with characteristic impulsiveness, started to her feet. “Let me go down!” she began.

“Wait,” interposed Leonard, catching her by the hand. “There is not the least need for you to go downstairs.⁠—Show the foreigner up here,” he continued, addressing himself to Betsey, “and tell Mr. Munder that we will take the management of this business into our own hands.”

Rosamond sat down again by her husband’s side. “This is a very strange accident,” she said, in a low, serious tone. “It must be something more than mere chance that puts the clue into our hands, at the moment when we least expected to find it.”

The door opened for the second time, and there appeared, modestly, on the threshold, a little old man, with rosy cheeks and long white hair. A small leather case was slung by a strap at his side, and the stem of a pipe peeped out of the breast pocket of his coat. He advanced one step into the room, stopped, raised both his hands, with his felt hat crumpled up in them, to his heart, and made five fantastic bows in quick succession⁠—two to Mrs. Frankland, two to her husband, and one to Mrs. Frankland again, as an act of separate and special homage to the lady. Never had Rosamond seen a more complete embodiment in human form of perfect innocence and perfect harmlessness than the foreigner who was described in the housekeeper’s letter as an audacious vagabond, and who was dreaded by Mr. Munder as something worse than a thief!

“Madam and good Sir,” said the old man, advancing a little nearer at Mrs. Frankland’s invitation, “I ask your pardon for intruding myself. My name is Joseph Buschmann. I live in the town of Truro, where I work in cabinets and tea-caddies, and other shining woods. I am also, if you please, the same little foreign man who was scolded by the big majordomo when I came to see the house. All that I ask of your kindness is, that you will let me say for my errand here and for myself, and for another person who is very near to my love⁠—one little word. I will be but few minutes, Madam and good Sir, and then I will go my ways again, with my best wishes and my best thanks.”

“Pray consider, Mr. Buschmann, that our time is your time,” said Leonard. “We have no engagement whatever which need oblige you to shorten your visit. I must tell you beforehand, in order to prevent any embarrassment on either side, that I have the misfortune to be blind. I can promise you, however, my best attention as far as listening goes. Rosamond, is Mr. Buschmann seated?”

Mr. Buschmann was still standing near the door, and was expressing sympathy by bowing to Mr. Frankland again, and crumpling his felt hat once more over his heart.

“Pray