Chapter XXVIII: 'ho, Ho, Ho! Set Him Up.'

It surprised nobody who knew him well to be informed that Frank Antony Blake had left England in a sailing ship without bidding good-bye to any one except his very nearest and dearest, including the little gipsy lass, with whom his parting had been most sad and tender. Probably it had taken him only a few minutes to make up his mind, and only a few hours to get ready his kit or outfit, so much a creature of impulse was he. He needed an entire change, he told himself, and he would remain away for a whole year. In the long run, this really extended to four whole years and over.

He had not been gone more than a month, however, before the curious will-case, of which mention has now to be made, became for a short time the talk of the town. Law is a much drier subject to write about than either love or friendship; but even in a romance there are times when it cannot well be avoided.

Until this lawsuit came off--or came on rather, for it dragged out its wearying length for a week--few probably except people living in their own county had ever heard much about the Broxleys of Blankshire. They were a very old family nevertheless, and had as much right as any to say that they had come over with William the Conqueror. Be that as it may, the Broxleys were a county family noted for their love of true English sport--if following the hounds and hunting tame and innocent deer to death be sport--and all manly games.

The family was by no means a prolific one; and going into its back history it was found that there was seldom a direct heir to the estate. An owner would either die a bachelor, or if married leave the world a childless man, so that the rich lands and castles took now and then a leap, as it were, into side branches of the old family. But when the estates passed into the hands of Talbot Broxley, Esq., it was believed that they were at last settled, for he had a splendid healthy young son, the only member of his family, by the way, who was quite independent of the wealth that apparently nothing could keep him out of. He was a great favourite both in town and country, and was engaged to a charming young lady, a cousin of the Marquis of Kingslee. The two seemed very fond of each other, and were the admired of all the gossips on that day when together they rode off to a distant steeplechase. It was the last ride the happy pair ever had, for, mournful to say, young Stanley's horse shied at an urchin who had popped unexpectedly out of a ditch by the wayside; shied and bolted, and that forenoon the rider was carried home dead.

This terrible accident quite broke his father's heart, and so the estates fell into the hands of a comparative stranger, a bachelor who had previous to this been as poor as the proverbial church-mouse. His only brother had died some time before this man's succession, and his baby daughter was sent to a convent to be nursed and reared.

When this bachelor inherited the estates he naturally thought of the child who was then about two years of age, and had her brought from the convent to Broxley Towers. She would be the next heir, and she would be a comfort to him, he believed, as she grew up. And this child was the only one who would stand between the vast wealth of the Broxleys and John Crawford Broxley, a cousin of the bachelor, when that lord of the manor should die. As the owner of Broxley Towers was said to be suffering from some incurable ailment to which the doctors never put a name, the chance of his attaining to anything like old age was a very remote one. They say, however, that watched pots take long to boil; and just because John Crawford wished this man dead, and watched for his demise, he lived.

As to the child, she disappeared most mysteriously one afternoon, and on this disappearance hinges the dénouement of this story.

There was some one else watching until the bachelor should die, and she had waited and watched until at last, about one month after Frank Antony Blake had left the country, his demise was announced, and John Crawford Broxley had proceeded at once to assert his rights to the Broxley estate.

But to the astonishment of every one, suddenly an eminent counsel came forward intent upon proving that John had no more right to the Broxley Towers than he himself had. For till now no one dreamt of anything like opposition to John's claim.

Thus the nine days' wonder came upon the boards.

John Crawford sat in court that morning; no more confident nor self-satisfied individual was present. He was beaming and effulgent.

A man of about six-and-thirty, he was good-looking, well-groomed, and well set-up. He leant back in his seat and complacently watched the proceedings. He believed that these would utterly collapse after a witness or two had been examined.

But the other side had employed probably the most eminent counsel in this country, and the judge himself looked the quintessence of earnest justice. The counsel for the other claimant, John's opponent, was very calm and quiet. He began, indeed, by stating that there was no nearer heir to the estates than John Crawford Broxley, and if reports as to his character were to be credited, he was a _vir probus et virtutis_, or had been for many years. Unfortunately for him, however, there were certain antecedents that he, counsel, would have to mention for the consideration of the judge. But, nevertheless, the fact remained that John was the nearest heir to Broxley Towers----

The great lawyer paused a few seconds, and many in the court thought that he was about to surrender his case or throw up his brief--'Provided,' he continued 'there was no nearer heir.' He would now have the pleasure of bringing forward as the claimant a young lady whom he could prove was the daughter of the deceased's brother.

There was a buzz of excitement and admiration in the court when--led by Crona the witch, who leant on a long staff and had her raven Joe on her shoulder--Lotty herself, looking radiantly pretty, entered and took her seat shyly beside her fairy godmother.

'This,' proceeded the counsel, 'is the girl who, as a child of some two and a half years, was stolen from the lord of the manor and Broxley Towers.'

John Crawford at this moment lost a good deal of his nonchalance, and leant forward on the bench, eagerly scanning Lotty's face.

Birth-marks on the child's side and left arm were then described, and it seemed to be tacitly admitted that if Lotty had these marks, which were very peculiar, she was undoubtedly the long-lost child.

Captain Paterson of the _Nor'lan' Star_ was a witness now called and questioned, but not cross-examined. He knew Maggie Dyer, nurse at Broxley Hall to the child who would be the nearest heir to the estates on the death of the then lord of the manor. He had known Maggie long before then. Whenever his ship was paid off he used to run down to Broxley, and a friend of his, now first-mate of the _Nor'lan' Star_, used always to accompany him.

'You were supposed to be wooing Maggie?' said the judge.

'There was precious little supposition about it, my lord.'

'Why did you take the mate with you? It is not usual for a man going a-wooing to take a male companion with him.'

'Only for company's sake, sir. Nothing a sailor hates more than a tedious journey by rail with no one to speak to.'

'Did you go to the Hall?'

'Certainly so, sir. And the mate knew how to pass the time at the village inn while I was away. He is a sailor as well as myself.'

'You saw your intended at the Hall?'

'Yes, in the housekeeper's room; the housekeeper herself being there sometimes--sometimes not.'

'Was this girl Maggie's character unimpeachable, Captain Paterson? She was really a good girl?'

'I'd have knocked the man who dared to doubt it into the middle of next week, sir; and she was good enough to make my wife.'

'You would have heard her speak of the child?'

'Oh yes, and she nearly went out of her mind with grief when it disappeared, and it was soon after this that we became man and wife.'

His brown-bearded mate was the next called. He testified to going down to Broxley with Captain Paterson, and indeed to all he said. Then he was asked about the finding of the little boat at sea, with Lotty therein, and her life on board, and of the captain's wife discovering on the little gipsy lass the birth-marks, and informing her husband and himself; and the witness concluded by informing the court that he considered the whole occurrence simply a ‘’tarposition of Providence, and nothing else.'

Then came good, kind Mrs Paterson herself. Her story took the court back to the time when she became nurse-companion to the child at Broxley Hall. She would willingly have married before; but Mr Paterson, whom she had known and been engaged to for many years, wanted first and foremost to be in a good position, and to walk his own quarterdeck as captain, because then he could take her to sea with him.

'Well,' said counsel, 'tell us briefly about the disappearance of the child. You had been nurse for some little time before this, hadn't you?'

'Yes, sir, and the child was much attached to me.'

'You gave perfect satisfaction?'

'Oh yes, sir, for I stayed on months after the child was stolen, and indeed, I may say, I was married from the Hall.'

'Was a hue and cry raised?'

'Yes, and rewards offered, but all to no purpose.'

'The mystery remained a mystery?'

'That's it, sir.'

'And about the birth-marks?'

'They were there on the infant I nursed, sir, and I found them on the girl Lotty whom we picked up in the North Sea.'

'Is it not possible'--this from the judge--'that the marks on Lotty Lee's side may only be of some fancied resemblance to those on the infant child and heir to Broxley estates?'

'There is no fancy about it, my lord; they are the same. I swear to that.'

'After ten long years and over?'

'Women can remember longer back than that, sir.'

'No doubt, no doubt.'

Mrs Paterson was cross-questioned at some length by John Crawford's counsel, but without causing her to deviate in the slightest from any portion of her strange story.

As to the actual stealing of the infant, it was simplicity itself. She had left her sleeping in a cot and in a room which opened by French windows to a shrubbery. When she returned about an hour later she found the room locked from the inside, and when she raised the alarm and the door was forced the child was gone.

An important witness was an old doctor who had attended the infant, and had examined Lotty as well. He swore to the identity of these strange birth-marks, and was then allowed to retire, being feeble.

That which is here being described so briefly took a very long time to go into, and days passed before the case was decided, even so far.

'We now come to the _raison d'être_,' the counsel was understood to say; 'but before going further into the case I shall pause here to give John Crawford a chance of withdrawing his claim in favour of my client, and _for his own safety's sake_.'

Lotty's counsel placed ominous emphasis on the last few words.

There was then an adjournment for luncheon that day; and after the court had reassembled, Crawford's counsel intimated that after what had been said in so pointed and even threatening manner he had advised that the case be continued.

When Crona entered the witness-box, and the raven still perched where he was, a titter of laughter passed round the court; but this was instantly suppressed, and gradually all her story was told in answer to questions put by Lotty's counsel.

She had been an actress on the French stage, she said and swore, about eleven years ago, and a great favourite with the public. Her parts were comedy, with singing and skirt-dancing, and it was at this time that she was introduced to John Crawford Broxley, the man sitting up yonder. He made love to her, and proposed marriage. She had left the stage to be married, and had even gone to church; but herself and party had waited in vain for the bridegroom, who had been married on the previous evening to a young lady with money.

She then described the stealing of the child by John Crawford, and the disposal of it to a common mountebank, who trained and reared her as an infant prodigy.

Crawford's counsel was sitting on nettles, and he thought he now saw his chance; and Lotty's lawyer allowed him to have it, and sat down to listen. There was a smirk of satisfied amusement on the face of the former as he told the judge he only wanted to ask the woman in the mob-cap a question or two.

'Probably,' he said, 'one question will be convincing enough. Ahem!'

Now the raven had been quite silent until this moment; but no sooner had this clever counsel risen and cleared his throat than Joe, bending back his head, gave vent to a low, derisive chuckle, 'Ha, ha, ha!'

'I think, your honour, that bird should be removed.'

Crona promised, however, he should keep quiet, and the counsel proceeded:

'You have told the court, madam, that only eleven years ago you were a gay actress and danseuse?'

Crona nodded.

'And that John Crawford, still a young man, made love to you--to you who are now ninety years old, if a day, so that he at the age of twenty-five must have made love to a lady older than his grandmother.'

Even the jury smiled, and John thought his case was won.

His counsel sat down with a satisfied smirk. But Crona kept standing, and whispered to Lotty's counsel.

'This witness,' said the latter, 'wishes to retire'----

'It is time,' said the other counsel.

But Lotty's counsel turned furiously on him. 'How dare you interrupt me, sir? Retire,' he added, 'not from the case, but for ten minutes to change her dress.'

Leave was given, and in less than five minutes Crona had returned, raven and all. But to the astonishment of all she now stood before the court a young and beautiful lady, much under thirty. She laughed a little.

'I think, my lord, that even John Crawford's counsel will admit that if I was no actress eleven years ago I am a very good specimen of one now.'

'Bravo! bravo!' cried Joe. 'Ha, ha, ha!'

She threw the bird high towards the roof, and there he perched on a bracket defiantly.

'John Crawford,' Crona went on, 'made love to me, promised me marriage, deserted me in a cowardly way, and I have to confess that I swore revenge. I found out about the child-stealing, and knew well that as soon as the lord of the manor died that low-browed man yonder would put in his claim. He thought, as every one else did, that I was a witch. It strikes me, your honour, I have bewitched him to good account.'

She sat down by Lotty, and even the judge could not prevent a buzz of applause.

'I will now,' said our heroine's counsel, 'produce the man who was paid to take away the child, Lotty Broxley--namely, the showman Josiah Radcliffe.'

Then Biffins Lee himself appeared, and at this moment those who had their gaze fixed upon John Crawford noticed that he turned suddenly pale, and, leaning towards his counsel, began to whisper to him in a somewhat agitated manner. His counsel immediately arose.

'My client,' he said, 'wishes to retire from the case.'

'It is time,' this from Lotty's legal adviser, for it was his turn now.

'Ha, ha, ha!' chuckled the raven. 'Set _him_ up. Ho, ho, ho! Set _him_ up. Joe's cross! Ho, ho, _ho_!'

As he left the court that day, John Crawford was tapped upon the arm by a detective.

'I hold a warrant for your arrest, John Crawford Broxley, for child-stealing.'

And so the nine days' wonder ended, and ends our story with it.

When Crona with her charge alighted from the hansom that had driven them from court to the little cottage of Chops's parents, the first to meet her was Chops himself. The second was Wallace. Ah! what a welcome that dog's was! From the tones of his voice it really seemed as if he were crying and scolding her lovingly at the same time. Why had she gone away so long and left him to break his heart? _He_ would ne'er have gone away from _her_, and so on, and so forth in a dog's own way.

Distant but wealthy relations of Lotty's were constituted her legal guardians; but the girl determined--and had her own way too, for what is the good of being rich if you don't have your own way?--determined that Crona should be always with her; she and she alone would be her real guardian, her own dear fairy godmother.

It was fully four years after this before Frank Antony returned from his wanderings. But Aggie his sister had told him all the news.

It is needless to say that his father freely forgave the brave and dashing young man who came with firm step up the avenue one fine forenoon. He was now four-and-twenty.

'Father,' he said, 'I've had my fling, and you may do with me as you please.'

'I think, Frank, my boy, I shall choose a bride for you. That will be best, Frank.'

'I think, father,' said the son laughing, 'I'm almost old enough to choose one for myself.--What do you think, mother? Oh, dear old mummy, how sweet you look even through your foolish tears!'

'Well, anyhow, you shall see the young lady we shouldn't mind you marrying,' said his father. 'She is here on a visit; and, lo! yonder she comes.'

A beautiful young girl of nineteen was coming slowly up the garden-path hand in hand with Crona; and Wallace himself next moment had his paws on Antony's shoulder.

Antony made a rush to meet Lotty, with both hands extended.

'What,' he cried, 'my little gipsy lass! Father, you have chosen well. I accept the responsibility.'

* * * * *

The honeymoon was spent in the great saloon caravan 'Gipsy Queen.' And it was not one moon only, but many of them, that the happy couple spent in this idyllic and delightful way.

It is needless to say that honest Wallace was one of the party, and he seemed to have become younger than ever now he had all those he loved on earth together.

It would be positively unkind to finish this story without saying a word about good, faithful Chops. He may be found at any time of the day in a large emporium near to St Paul's, and behind the counter where many a good man has served before him, a suave, smiling, and obliging young fellow. It must be confessed that he looks remarkably well in his dark morning coat and patent leather boots, to say nothing of the yard-stick, as he puts the question: 'What will be next, please, ma'am?' There is even a possibility of his being in time to come thrice Lord Mayor of London town. But although he still looms large in private theatricals he will never be an 'Enry Hirving--never, _never_, NEVER!'

THE END.

Edinburgh: Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Nicely.

[B] Marriage-portion or fortune.

[C] Money.

[D] The megaphone is a speaking-trumpet of great power, the voice from which can be heard high over the roar of wind or wave fully a mile.

[E] Walrus flesh.