CHAPTER XVII
SORELY PERSECUTED
Bertha was alarmed to find the name of Mr. Grayle on the note. She hoped Mr. Presby had no business relations with such a man, and she was frightened at the thought of seeing him again. He had insulted her at Woodville, and he might do so in New York. But her errand must be done; and she hoped he would not be in his office.
Mr. Grayle was in his private room with several gentlemen when she reached her destination. She gave the note to his clerk, and saw it delivered. It was a lucky escape, and she retreated from the place well satisfied with the result. As Mr. Presby had told her she need not hurry back, she decided to call upon Mr. Sherwood again.
“I’m very glad to see you again, Miss Grant,” said the clerk, as she entered the office; “I have good news for you.”
“Has my father got out of the Tombs?” asked Bertha, to whom this seemed to be the only good news that could come to her.
“No; not quite so good as that,” replied the clerk, shaking his head. “You saw the gentleman who was with me when you left the office this morning?”
“I did.”
“Did you know him?”
“I did not, though his face seemed strangely familiar.”
“It was your uncle, from Valparaiso.”
“Uncle Obed?”
“Yes, I suppose that is his name; at any rate, he is your father’s only brother.”
“Oh, I am so glad!” exclaimed Bertha, “for I know that he can save my father.”
“Your father shall be saved, any way; but for the present your uncle cannot do much. He is a stranger in New York. His business in Valparaiso was entirely with English merchants.”
“Where is he now?”
“He is stopping at the Astor House. If your father can be set at liberty, your uncle will take care of his pecuniary matters as soon as his funds arrive from England.”
“I will call and see him.”
“I think he has gone to Philadelphia, to see a friend who will furnish him with money to pay off your father’s most pressing debts.”
“That is just like Uncle Obed,” said Bertha.
“He remained with me all the forenoon. He knows about Brace Brothers, and he says they have only suspended and will, eventually pay all they owe. If this is the case, Mr. Grant will yet come out all right. As the matter stands now, if your father could raise about fifty thousand dollars, it would keep him out of trouble till the affairs of Brace Brothers are settled up. This your uncle will endeavor to procure.”
“Will Mr. Grayle be paid then?” asked Bertha.
“Mr. Grayle has already been paid. He has taken Woodville, though he says the estate will not pay him what he has advanced. I suppose it would not, if sold at auction, and he does not like the bargain. As soon as he pressed your father, and threw him into prison, others became clamorous for their money. I hope your uncle will be able to raise the sum needed.”
“I am sure he will.”
“He is very doubtful, for all his friends are in England, and all his property is there. He has retired from business, and means to settle in this vicinity, as soon as he can close up his affairs, and invest his wealth in this country. He was very anxious to see you.”
“I will see him at once, if I can.”
On her way uptown, she called at the Astor House; but Uncle Obed had gone to Philadelphia, as the clerk thought.
It was time for her to return to Mr. Presby’s. Her father and his affairs now engrossed all her attention, and she even forgot those of her invalid employer. It was certainly good news that Uncle Obed had arrived. Her father had written to him several months before, and she had felt that, if he would come, all would be well. He could get Mr. Grant out of prison; he could recover possession of Woodville; and he could advance money to pay her father’s debts, and thus save him from his creditors till the affairs of Brace Brothers were settled.
But Uncle Obed seemed to be almost powerless, after all. He had come, but he was a stranger in the land, with no means and no credit. He had wealth enough, but it might as well have been at the bottom of the Red Sea, so far as any present use was concerned.
Her father was still in prison.
Woodville was still in possession of Mr. Grayle.
Creditors representing fifty thousand dollars were still ready to harass her father.
Here were three tremendous obstacles in the path of her father. Bertha felt that she was but a child, and she could do nothing against such fearful odds; but still her mission was to save her father. The coming of Uncle Obed would keep the family from want; but all her father had seemed to be lost, and nothing but beggary or dependence to be before him. It was doubtful whether Uncle Obed could do anything before it was too late to save her father from ruin. What could she do herself? Alas! nothing.
Still thinking of these things, she arrived at the door of Mr. Presby’s house. As she went up the stone steps, the thought came, that perhaps she might do something; but it was too absurd to be cherished, and she dismissed it at once. She was so absorbed with these reflections that she did not think of the night key in her pocket, and rang the bell. The summons was promptly answered by John, who opened the door about a foot, and placed himself in the aperture.
“Who do you wish to see, miss?” asked he, politely.
“I wish to see Mr. Presby--the old gentleman.”
“Do you? Well, he isn’t at home.”
“Not at home?”
“He has just gone out of town, and won’t be back for three days.”
“If you will let me in, I will go to my room,” said Bertha, who did not believe John’s ridiculous story.
“Eh?” added the man, with a kind of leer, as though he did not understand her.
“I say I will go to my room, if you please.”
“Your room? Pray, miss, where is your room?”
“It is the small chamber over the hall.”
“Really, miss, I don’t understand you. I don’t see how your room can be in this house.”
“Don’t you know me, John?” asked Bertha, astonished at this singular reception.
“Don’t I know you? How should I know you?” replied he, with an innocent look.
“I am the young lady Mr. Presby engaged to-day.”
“Mr. Presby didn’t engage any young lady to-day.”
“Why, yes he did, John. You know me very well. Didn’t you talk with me when I went out, two hours ago, and ask me where I was going?”
“I? ’Pon my word, I never saw you before in my life!” protested John, apparently amazed at this statement.
It was greeted by a loud laugh from the entry behind him. It was the same voice she had heard before, and Bertha supposed it must be Miss Ellen.
“Then, if you will call Mr. Presby, he will assure you I am the person he engaged.”
“How can I tell him when he is out of town?”
“He is not out of town, John.”
“Oh, now, that does not sound like a lady, to doubt my word; but I will call Mr. Edward Presby.”
“I do not wish to see him.”
“Then I can’t do anything for you, miss.”
“I will go up to my room.”
“We don’t let strangers into the house,” replied John, decidedly.
“What do you mean, John? You know me well enough.”
“Never saw you before in my life; and if you doubt my word, I shall never want to see you again.”
“Send her away, John,” said the female in the hall.
“Good evening, miss; if you call next week, you may see Mr. Presby,” said John, with one of those wicked leers with which he accompanied his polite impudence, and closed the door in her face.
Bertha, astounded by this incident, retired from the door, and moved down the street again. Such villainy and such trickery were beyond her comprehension. She had actually been denied admission to the house of her employer. But she had spirit enough not to yield the point. She had walked down the street but a short distance before she thought of the night key in her pocket, and then she determined to return, and to make her way to Mr. Presby’s library, whether John was willing or not, for it did not occur to her that he would carry his opposition so far as to prevent her by force from doing so. It was evident that Mr. Presby’s son and daughter intended to prevent her from remaining with him. They feared her influence--that she might comfort and encourage the invalid, and thus prolong his life; or be an available witness in a contested will case; or that she might in some manner prevent them from controlling the old man’s thoughts or actions. “You must not love me, or they will hate you,” had been the warning of the father. If they wished to prevent her from seeing Mr. Presby again, it would be hard for her to do so.
Bertha felt that the old man was in the hands of his enemies, though they were his own children, and higher considerations than her own comfort and welfare prompted her not to yield to the conspiracy. She could not desert the old gentleman when he had been so kind to her. Obeying this generous impulse, she hastened up the steps, and inserted the night key as quickly as she could. The door was opened without difficulty, and, not stopping to close it, she hung up the night key on the nail from which she had taken it, and opened the inner door, intending to run upstairs before John should appear to dispute her passage.
She was partially successful, and had ascended a few steps before the vigilant manservant showed himself. But John, whom Mrs. Presby regarded as a useful person in the house, was as active as he was keen. No sooner did he discover that he had, in some mysterious manner, been circumvented, than he sprang up the stairs, and, catching hold of her dress, pulled her down to the door again.
“Who is it, John?” called the voice of the female from an adjoining room.
“It is the girl that tried to get in a few moments ago.”
“A thief--isn’t she, John?” said Mr. Edward Presby, who now appeared in the hall, followed by his wife and his sister.
“I suppose so, sir,” replied the ready John. “She has been prowling about the house all day. I have sent her away twice.”
“But how did she get in?” demanded Mr. Presby.
“That’s more than I know; but this kind of folks always find a way to open a door,” answered John, with a wicked grin.
“How did you get in?” said Mr. Presby, sternly.
“Hush, Ned,” whispered Miss Ellen, pointing upstairs.
“No fear of him; he is fast asleep in the back chamber,” muttered John.
But Mr. Presby acted upon this caution, and, taking Bertha by the arm, led her into the dining-room, in the rear, where the invalid could not hear what transpired.
“Now, how did you get in?” repeated Mr. Presby, in the same stern tone he had used before, as though he were speaking to a common thief, whom he hated and despised.
“I came in with the night key,” replied Bertha, appalled at the turn which the affair had taken.
“Where did you get the night key?”
“I took it from the nail when I went out.”
“When you went out! When was that?”
“I know what she means. She stole the key when she came to the door with the foolish inquiries,” observed Miss Ellen.
“Did you miss the keys, John?” asked Mr. Presby.
“I did not, sir. I don’t believe she got in that way. I will go and see;” and he left the room.
In a moment he returned, declaring the two night keys were hanging on the nail, where he had seen them half a dozen times during the day.
“She picked the lock, then,” added Mr. Presby.
“Well, I hope something will be done about it this time,” said Mrs. Presby. “You caught a woman in the hall once before, and let her go because she was well dressed.”
“That was a mistake of mine; and I will not make another of the same kind. John, you may go for an officer.”
“For mercy’s sake, Mr. Presby, don’t send me to prison!” said Bertha, terrified beyond expression.
“That is just what the woman said, in almost the same words,” added Mrs. Presby.
“Don’t you know me, sir?” pleaded Bertha. “I was in the library when you were there this afternoon.”
“No use,” replied Mr. Presby, shaking his head. “That kind of stuff won’t go down.”
“The other thief said she wanted to see her sister, who was a servant in the house,” said Miss Ellen.
“It is a plain case, miss, and there is no use of wasting words in idle stories. I let one thief escape, and I will not permit another to slip through my fingers.”
“I am no thief, sir. I beg you to send up to your father, and he will assure you I am not a thief,” pleaded Bertha.
“My father is out of town.”
Poor Bertha could say nothing to move her persecutors; and, in despair, she relapsed into silence. In a few moments John returned with a policeman. Mr. Presby and his man told their story, and the officer thought it was a very plain case.
“Come, miss,” said he, taking her by the arm and leading her out into the street.