CHAPTER XII

A SURPRISE FOR ARTHUR

"CAN I speak to you for a few minutes, sir, when I have distributed the letters?" asked Arthur, when Mr. Bristow came in, the morning after he and Molly had been for their walk.

"Oh yes, of course! Is it anything very important?" asked the gentleman.

"I hardly know what to think of it myself, and that is why I want to talk to you," replied Arthur.

And when the letter-bags were delivered, Arthur returned to the counting-house and found Mr. Bristow ready to hear what he had to say.

"I met my cousin last night, Lady Mary's son," explained Arthur.

And then he related as clearly as he could what had taken place the previous evening.

"You say he had taken too much to drink when you met him?"

"Oh yes! He could hardly walk. But I think a very little wine or spirits makes him like that," said Arthur, anxious to screen his cousin as much as he could.

"That matters little. The thing is, he did not know what he was talking about when he admitted that, if he did know anything of the missing letter, no one could prove it, and yet at the same time, he accused you of stealing the letter. The two statements contradict each other."

"Yes, they do," admitted Arthur. "But I should like to ask you, Mr. Bristow, whether you think I stole that letter?" And as he spoke, Arthur looked earnestly into the man's eyes as though he would read his answer there.

Mr. Bristow looked at him almost as earnestly as he replied: "Murray, I don't believe you know any more of that letter than I do!"

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for that word!" he said. "I can bear it for a bit longer now."

And the boy turned and went to his own desk, for his eyes were full of tears, and he did not want to let Mr. Bristow see them fall.

Mr. Brading was late before he came to his room that morning, but as soon as he came, Mr. Bristow went in to tell him what he had heard from Arthur. And they were still discussing the mysterious disappearance of the letter, when a messenger knocked at the door and announced that a lady was waiting to see Mr. Brading in his room downstairs.

"She is a real lady, sir," replied the man, in answer to the question, "What name?"

"I will be down directly," said Mr. Brading. And he followed the man almost immediately.

In the little downstairs parlour sat a thin, fragile-looking woman dressed in widow's mourning, who was evidently making a great effort to maintain her calmness, for Mr. Brading saw her lips quiver as she rose from her seat and bowed in greeting.

"My name is Murray," she said in a low, tremulous voice, "and I am the mother of Arthur Murray, who is in your employment."

She paused for a moment as if to gather strength and resolution for her next words, and then she said quite calmly: "My relative, Lady Mary Murray, has been to see me this morning, and she tells me that you have so grave a charge to make against my son that it will be necessary for me to remove him and send him out of the neighbourhood to avoid disgrace being brought upon our name. Will you tell me exactly what has happened, and all that Arthur has done? I am not sure that I can believe you any more than I could Lady Mary, but I want to know the worst, and at once," she added with a gasp.

Mr. Brading was afraid she was going to faint, and as soon as she had finished speaking, he rose and went to a cupboard in the corner, and the next minute was holding a glass of wine to her lips. "You must drink this before I answer one word, Mrs. Murray." He spoke in a commanding tone that helped the lady to gather all her forces to hear the terrible words that might blight all her hopes for Arthur's future.

When Mr. Brading saw that she was a little stronger, he said: "I wish I could explain all the mystery that surrounds the disappearance of Lady Mary's letter and cheque. But this I may say: that whatever suspicion I had of your son, and I admit that he has lain under this suspicion for some little time, still his behaviour through this trying ordeal, and something I heard from my man of business this morning, have completely cleared his character in my estimation, so that you may rest assured that I should be very sorry to part with him now. And I can only hope that you will not deem it necessary to remove him just yet, even if fortune should come to you. I have acted towards him as I hope someone would act towards my own son if he were placed in similar circumstances. Appearances were very much against him, and after my second interview with Lady Mary, I feared that I should be compelled to ask him to resign his situation. But on mature reflection, I deemed that if this stigma was ever to be removed from him, he had better remain where he was, and, however hard it might be for him, and myself too, we must each bear our share of the discomfort. Arthur has borne his bravely and well, although I can see it has been a very bitter trial to him."

"Thank you! God bless you, Mr. Brading!" said Mrs. Murray, rising.

But she spoke in such a tremulous tone, and seemed altogether so weak, that Mr. Brading replaced her in her seat, and, ringing his bell, he said to the man who answered it: "Order my carriage to be ready in ten minutes, and ask Mr. Murray to come to me at once."

"Now, Mrs. Murray, you must let your son take you home in the carriage, for I am afraid this interview has been altogether too much fatigue for you."

"I have not been out for two years," replied the lady. "But I have made up my mind, since I have been here, to turn over a new leaf, if it is not too late, for I might have done more than I have to help my children."

Then Arthur came in, but was so amazed to see his mother sitting there that for a moment he stood speechless. Then, going to her side, and laying his hand protectingly on her shoulder, he said: "Oh, Mamma! What is it? What have they been troubling you about?" And then, turning an angry face to Mr. Brading, he said reproachfully: "I would rather you had sent me to prison than drag my mother out here like this!"

"Arthur! Arthur! Mr. Brading had nothing to do with my coming here, and he has been most kind and considerate!"

"There, there, we will have an explanation by and by, Mrs. Murray. Compose yourself now, the carriage will be here in a minute."

And as he spoke, a messenger came to announce that it was at the door.

"Allow me to help you," he said, offering her his arm. "You drive back with your mother, and see that she is comfortable and easy in her mind before you return," said Mr. Brading.

He took Mrs. Murray by a private door and saw that she was comfortably placed in the carriage, while Arthur dashed upstairs to fetch his hat, scarcely knowing what he did in his haste, and the revulsion of feeling since Mr. Brading had spoken.

"Mother, how was it you came down here?" asked Arthur, as soon as they had driven off through the streets of the town. "Did you come by yourself? Why did Annie and Molly let you do it?"

"My dear, Lady Mary came this morning and told me such a dreadful tale of what you had been doing, that I don't think I quite knew what I was about until I found myself in that shop asking for Mr. Brading. But I wanted to know, Arthur, how much was true of Aunt Mary's story. I could not believe it all, dear, but to have to believe any of it almost drove me wild, and so I put on my bonnet and went out, and I don't think I shall go back and stay in my room again, for I fancy if I had always known about things, as I ought to have done, they would not have been so bad, and so I mean to try and come downstairs in the day and go out sometimes, now I have been able to take this long walk."

"This is good news, Mamma." For although to him, the walk from the cottage to the town did not occupy ten minutes, it was undoubtedly a long walk for Mrs. Murray.

The carriage drew up at the garden gate, and Arthur jumped out. But before he could lift his mother to the ground, Molly had opened the street door and was running down to meet them.

"Oh, Mamma! Where have you been?" she exclaimed.

"I can manage, dear, with Arthur's help," said Mrs. Murray, as Molly put her arm round her mother's waist to help her along.

Arthur was proud to feel his mother leaning upon him.

"Oh, Mamma, dear, mind you don't fall," said Annie, who also joined them before they came to the street door.

Mrs. Murray was very tired, and when the dining-room was reached, she said she would stay there for the rest of the day.

"I mean to turn over a new leaf, if I can, and take my part in the everyday life. I never thought I could do it, and so I never tried, but Lady Mary has taught me that I can help myself, and I am not likely to forget the lesson."

The sisters looked at each other and then at Arthur.

But after resting for a little while, Mrs. Murray ate a fairly-good dinner, and her cats were induced to come to the dining-room for the afternoon.

After waiting a little while to make sure that his mother was not likely to suffer any ill effects from her adventure, Arthur went back to the office in high spirits, and quite ready to forgive Lady Mary her share in what had been done, for if it was the means of rousing his mother to make some exertion, it would be worth all it cost. Even the trouble over the missing letter Arthur would not grudge, if this was to be the result.

The doctor had told them again and again that Mrs. Murray could walk and take her part in the everyday life of the household. But she had protested that she could not, until they thought the doctor must be mistaken and that it was something more than mere nervousness that ailed her.

By the time he got back to his desk, he had made up his mind that the doctor was right after all, and that now they would have to let the mother who had always been screened and protected from all care and household worry take her share in the pleasures and duties of life once more, and he resolved to take her out for a walk every evening.

But first he must thank Mr. Brading for his courtesy and kindness to her, and so he went to his room and told that gentleman that his mother seemed better, rather than worse, for her adventure.

"I beg your pardon, sir, for speaking as I did downstairs. But when I saw my mother sitting there, and knew that only one thing could have brought her out, I felt I could endure anything rather than she should have come. For it is more than two years since she went out, except when she was carried to the carriage that brought her to the cottage from our old home."

Mr. Brading looked astonished. "You really mean she has been an invalid for two years?" he said.

"She has not left her own sitting-room upstairs since she was carried there," answered Arthur. "And we could not let her know for a long time that I was trying to earn my own living for fear it should upset her," replied Arthur.

"But her mother-love conquered her weakness. Well, well, I have heard of such cases before, and I hope this may be followed by a permanent improvement. As to what you said, why, it was just what I should expect under the circumstances. By the way, I saw Mr. Andrews this morning, and from what he told me, I am pretty sure that you had nothing to do with that missing letter. Whether Lady Mary's son tampered with it, is another matter. Mr. Bristow told me what you heard from your cousin last night, but whether any credence is to be attached to words spoken when a man is in that condition, I should not like to judge. But so far as you and I are concerned, the matter is at an end, and you had better come home and see Jack to-morrow and tell him all about it. He knows nothing at present except that he is forbidden to come to the shop until I give him leave."

"Thank you, Mr. Brading." And Arthur and his master shook hands as a token of the restored amity between them.

Arthur would have liked to run down and have a turn in the gymnasium, by way of letting off some of the excited happiness that throbbed through him, but he thought it would be better to have it out in work. So, after a word or two with Mr. Bristow, he seated himself at his desk once more.

He had not asked Mr. Brading what Mr. Andrews said. But in point of fact, that gentleman showed the letter that he had received the previous evening, with the exclamation, "A lad of such promise as that is worth working for, and I mean to get the chestnuts out of the fire, if I can!"

"But suppose you are mistaken in your estimate of this boy's character?" objected Mr. Brading.

"But I am not mistaken. I have not managed things for the Murrays without knowing them; and I have always said if they could only be induced to work, instead of idling their life away, there would not be much to complain of. Now, this lad has taken to work as a duck takes to water, and I tell you it will be his salvation."

"But work is not everything, my friend."

"That's true enough. But I have had the lad watched to see if he is following in the steps of his friend, Lady Mary's son, for they were pretty close friends when they were younger, and Arthur has no one to look after him but a couple of sisters about his own age. So I set a watch upon that new billiard saloon that all the lads are going mad over. Mind, I don't object to billiards as a game, if they would keep the drink away from it. But there it is. The drink is there, and Lady Mary's boy is tipsy five times a week at least. But Arthur Murray has never been seen there. He seems to spend his evenings at home or in taking a stroll occasionally. I have met him myself once or twice, either alone or with one of his sisters."

"Well, I hope you may be right," said Mr. Brading. And then he told the lawyer of the missing letter, and how Lady Mary suspected Arthur of taking it.

"By the way, it was a cheque of yours for five pounds that she had enclosed in the missing letter!"

"And you think this lad stole it?"

"So she supposes. You see, we have no direct evidence that the letter ever came into our hands, but if it did, Murray would have to hand it on to the department to which it was addressed."

The lawyer shook his head. "I don't believe Arthur touched it," he said. "He has no evening expenses to meet, and he was perfectly frank and open with me as to what you were to pay him. What I could afford for household expenses I stated, and there was no margin left for billiard saloons, and if he went there, some of my informants must have seen him, for they have seen his cousin often enough!"

This conversation with a cautious man like Mr. Andrews pretty well convinced Mr. Brading that, whoever the culprit might be, it was not Arthur Murray, and what Mr. Bristow told him simply confirmed his opinion. So, after the talk with Arthur, he resolved to end the affair by writing to Lady Mary to say that he would bear the loss of the money, and no more was to be said about it, as there did not seem to be much chance of the thief ever being discovered.

Mr. Brading thought he had ended the matter when he wrote this letter, but he reckoned without Lady Mary. She was still fuming and fretting over what she had heard from Mr. Andrews about the money being ready for her whenever her lawyer was ready to transact the necessary business. And now to hear that Arthur was not to be dismissed from his situation, made her boil with rage against the world in general and Arthur in particular. And she handed the letter to Adrian when he came in.

"Well, that's all right. You don't want any more than that, do you?" he said, tossing it back across the table to his mother.

"Indeed I do!" she said. "I want those Murrays out of the way. What do they want to stop here for, now the property is all wasted?"

"Oh, let the boy alone, and don't be a fool!" politely answered her son, with a sleepy yawn.

"It is my business and not yours, and so don't you interfere!"

"Very well, do as you like; but if you begin to stir up that dirty water again, I shall go to London and get out of it, though I did post the letter, for I have heard enough about it, and don't mean to be dragged into it again."

Lady Mary had heard this threat more than once lately, and so she only smiled in a fashion that made Adrian feel pretty certain that she intended to take some action that would necessitate his being called as a witness.

And so, when the servant went to tell him Lady Mary wanted to speak to him, she found his room strewn from end to end with clothes and boots and slippers, but he had gone!

In point of fact, he was on his way to London, for he knew he would not find it convenient to answer questions if too closely pressed. And so he thought a visit to his uncle just now would be better for himself, and for his mother too, if she could only think so—a truth she would learn later on, he feared.