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Forget my child! she murmured. Forget my baby! You must either be mad or insincere to say such a thing. Ask the darlings forgiveness immediately.
I do, said our Reporter, kissing the baby, and yours. You have proved yourself a true woman. But my time is getting short, and I have already trespassed too long upon yours. Let us continue the conversation about Mr. Holdfast.
She instantly became serious, and with the baby in her arms, said, Yes! Well!
The landlady of the house, continued our Reporter, in which he lodged has declared that he had but one visitor a lady, closely veiled.
So I have read in the papers, said Mrs. Holdfast. Is nothing known about her where she came from, where she went to, whether she was a lady or a common woman?
Nothing is known, he replied.
Are you sure?
Quite sure, as far as my information goes. One person says that she was tall, another that she was short; another that she was fair, another that she was dark though they all agree that she never raised her veil. There is absolutely not a dependable clue upon which a person can work; nothing reliable can be gathered from statements so conflicting. What I wish to know is, whether you yourself have any suspicion?
She flushed with indignation. You do not mean to ask me whether Mr. Holdfast was enamoured of a woman with whom he made secret assignations? You insult me. I thought better of you; I did not believe you capable of harbouring such a suspicion against the dead?
You mistake me, said our Reporter; no such suspicion was in my mind. My thoughts were travelling in a different direction, and I was curious to ascertain whether what has occurred to my mind has occurred to yours.
About this woman? asked Mrs. Holdfast.
Yes, about this woman.
I did not wish to speak of it, said Mrs. Holdfast, after a pause, and speaking with evident reluctance; it is the one thing in this dreadful affair I desired to keep to myself. I had a motive yes; I did not want to do anyone an injustice. But, what can a weak woman like myself do when she is in the company of such a man as you? Nothing escapes you. It seems to me as if you had studied every little incident in connection with the murder of my poor husband for the purpose of bringing some one in guilty; but you are better acquainted than I am with the wickedness of people. You want to know what reason my husband had in taking a common lodging in Great Porter Square instead of coming home at once to me and his child. In my weak way I have thought it out. Shall I tell you how I have worked it out in my mind?
If you please.
Above everything else in the world, said Mrs. Holdfast, looking tenderly at her baby lying in her lap, even above his love for me, Mr. Holdfast valued the honour of his name. There is nothing he would not have sacrificed to preserve that unsullied. Well, then, after his sons death he discovered something who can say what? which touched his honour, and which needed skilful management to avoid public disgrace. I can think of nothing else than that the woman, who was connected in a disgraceful way with his son, had some sort of power over my poor husband, and that he wished to purchase her silence before he presented himself to me and our baby. He came home, and took the lodgings in Great Porter Square. There this woman visited him, and there he met his death. That is all I can think of. If I try to get any further, my mind gets into a whirl. Now you know all; I have concealed nothing from you. It is my firm belief that when you discover this woman everything else will be discovered. But you will never discover her never, never! And my poor husbands death will never be avenged.
I will ask you but one more question, said our Reporter. In what way do you account for the circumstance of your husband not writing to you after his return to London?
Do you forget, asked Mrs. Holdfast, in return, that he had injured his hand, and that he did not wish to disclose his private affairs to a stranger?
Here the interview terminated; and here, with the exception of the statement of three facts, our narrative ends.
Mrs. Holdfast is mistaken in her belief that her husband did not write to her because he had injured his hand, and was unwilling to employ an amanuensis. Our Reporter, after he left Mrs. Holdfast, had an interview with the former landlady of 119 Great Porter Square, who has left the house, and would under no consideration return to it. The landlady states that, on three occasions, she entered Mr. Holdfasts room when he was in it, and that on every occasion he was writing, and apparently writing freely. It did not appear to her that his hand was injured in the slightest degree. There was no bandage or plaister upon it, and he did not complain. We are in a position also to declare that, at the post-mortem examination, no recent injury of the right hand was perceptible.
The whole of Mr. Holdfasts property has been left by him, in a properly attested will, to his widow. When he made this will his son Frederick was alive. Not a shilling, however, is left to the son.
Mrs. Holdfast has offered a reward of five hundred pounds for the discovery of the murderer of her husband.
We have no doubt our readers will appreciate our enterprise in presenting them with this circumstantial account of the latest phase of the Great Porter Square Mystery.
The question that now remains to be answered is Where is Mr. Holdfasts son?
CHAPTER XXI
RICHARD MANX MAKES LOVE TO SWEET BECKY.
ON the morning following the publication of the Supplement to the Evening Moon, Becky had occasion to observe that her mistress, Mrs. Preedy, was earnestly engaged in the perusal of a newspaper. A great deal of house-work had to be done on this morning; there was a general cleaning-up; floors and stairs to be scrubbed, chairs and tables to be polished, and looking-glasses and windows to be cleaned; and as the greater portion of this work fell to Beckys share, she was kept busily employed until the afternoon. She was, therefore, in ignorance of the publication of the statement in the Evening Moon, and her curiosity was but languidly aroused by Mrs. Preedys pre-occupation, until, by mere chance, she caught sight of the heading, The Murder in Great Porter Square. She turned hot and cold, and her pulses quickened.
Is that something fresh about the murder next door? she ventured to ask.
Yes, Becky, replied Mrs. Preedy, but did not offer any explanation of the contents.
It was not Beckys cue to exhibit more than ordinary interest in the matter, and she merely remarked,
I thought it might be something about the houses being haunted.
She noted that the paper was the Evening Moon, and she determined to purchase a copy before she went to bed. She did not until the afternoon get an opportunity to leave the house, and even then, there was so much to do, she had to leave it secretly, and without Mrs. Preedys knowledge. There was another reason for her desire to go out. She expected a letter at the Charing Cross Post Office, and it was necessary she should be there before five oclock to receive it. Mrs. Preedy generally took a half-hours nap in the afternoon, and Beckys plan was to slip out the moment her mistress fell asleep, and leave the house to take care of itself. She felt the want of an ally at this juncture; the impression that she was fated to unravel the mystery of the murder, and thus clear the man she loved from suspicion, was becoming stronger; and to accomplish this it was necessary that she should keep her present situation. She needed help, and she could not take any person into her confidence.