Chapter VIII

A Search Unauthorised

FURTHER efforts on the part of Mrs. Cragg to find out Pattie's past history did not begin so soon as Pattie had feared.

The greater part of a week passed, on the whole quietly. There were many ways in which she could make herself useful, and she seldom overlooked them. Dot, from the first, became her abject slave, never content unless following her about; and Pattie could not have too much of Dot. The two were soon warmly devoted each to the other. Cragg could almost have found it in his heart to be jealous, when he saw how readily Dot would at any time quit him to go to Pattie. But he loved little Dot with too real a love not to be glad of anything that was for the child's good, and he knew that Pattie's influence would be for her good.

Mrs. Cragg speedily did become jealous, just as she had always been jealous of the child's greater love for Cragg. Her love was of a lower and smaller nature than his. She always liked to be first for her own sake.

A few days after Pattie's coming to the house, young Waters called with a barrow full of goods, fished up out of the depth into which the building had sunk. No attempt had been made, or was likely to be made, to rescue aught from the greater depth, into which the main mass had poured; but a good many things had been brought up from the level where poor Dale himself had lain. Most of these were so hopelessly crushed and broken as to be worthless. This time, however, a small chest of drawers had been rescued, much damaged, yet with the drawers still full; and two boxes, one open, the other locked.

Mrs. Cragg scented a possible discovery on the instant. Mr. Cragg was away till dinnertime, and Pattie had started for a ramble with Dot, which was likely to keep her away at least another hour; so Mrs. Cragg felt safe. She had the things carried into an unoccupied room, told Waters to call again when her husband should be at home, and set herself to an examination. She was anxious to find out something as to Pattie's past, and for this purpose had already ransacked Pattie's room without avail. Here was a fresh chance.

The chest of drawers contained only clothes. Mrs. Cragg soon satisfied herself on this point. She rapidly pulled out the contents of each drawer in succession, returning the same with equal speed. Then she turned attention to the boxes.

The one which was open held only books. Mrs. Cragg glanced inside a few, to find upon the title-pages "J. Dale," or "Pattie Dale" nothing further. She would not waste more time in that direction. The other small box, very strongly made, was locked. Mrs. Cragg whipped out her bunch of keys, and tried one after another with eagerness. At first her efforts were useless, but all at once the lock yielded, a key turned, and the lid rose. Mrs. Cragg pulled it more widely open, and gazed upon the pile of papers within the box.

Across the top lay a large envelope, endorsed, "From Mr. Peterson," and at the head of the first letter inside was an address, "Sunnyside, Southville,—shire."

Mrs. Cragg looked through the letter. It bore a date two years before this time, and was very kind, even affectionate, begging Mr. Dale not to hurry back, but to take a few days' extra holiday if he felt inclined. Mrs. Cragg put that down and opened another. Much the same in kind. A third and a fourth still gave no information. Then she took up two or three more, and in one she found a difference. Instead of "Dear Mr. Dale," it began "Dear Sir"; instead of "Yours sincerely," it ended "Yours faithfully." Mrs. Cragg's eyes fell on a sentence near the beginning:

"Since you say that you have not done it, and declare yourself incapable of any such act, I can only reply that I sincerely wish things may be so. I have resolved not to prosecute, but it is impossible that I—"

The page ended here, and at this instant the opening of the front door awakened Mrs. Cragg to a sense of her position. She heard Dot's little shrill voice, and Pattie's softer tones asking somebody, "Where was Mrs. Cragg?" In a moment they might come in.

Mrs. Cragg had no strong objections to her present position from motives of truth and honour, but she did very much object to being found out, and she went hot all over with fright. There was no time to restore the letters to their envelope. She thrust them loosely into the box, shut the lid, turned her key with some difficulty, drew it out, and dropped the bunch into her pocket. Then she whisked across the room to an old chiffonier in the farthest corner, and made believe to be hunting in a drawer.

"Ma-ma!" cried Dot's little voice, as the two came in; "Ma-ma, I'se had a clumble!"

"Jane said you were here," Pattie added. "Dot fell down and hurt her leg, and so I brought her home."

"And I didn't cly, ma-ma, not at all," protested Dot. "Pattie said I was blave. And my leg hurted—oh, ever so much."

"Oh!" Pattie's face changed as she saw the chest of drawers and the boxes.

"Yes, those were brought by young Waters." Mrs. Cragg was too busy to look Pattie in the face. "I told him to put them here, and to come again to be paid. Rubbish mostly, I suppose. You'll have to see if they are worth keeping."

"Yes; thank you. I think I had better have them in my room."

"They'll lumber you up there."

"It doesn't matter. May I have something to put on Dot's leg?"

"How did she come to do such a stupid thing?"

"But I wasn't scupid, not one bit," declared Dot in an injured tone. "It was a dreat scupid dog what runned against me, and clumbled me down."

Pattie devoted herself to displaying and doctoring the grazed little leg. Dot talked vigorously all the while, with a goodly amount of self-praise on the score of her own courage. She was very proud of not having been betrayed into tears; and presently she stumped off, anxious to display her lameness to others. Pattie stood looking at the two boxes.

"That one's locked," remarked Mrs. Cragg, unable to let the matter alone.

"Yes."

"What's in it?"

"I don't know. It was my father's. He always had it locked. He kept his papers there."

"You'll have to read them now, of course."

Pattie was silent.

"You'll have to read them all now," repeated the other.

"I don't—know."

"Why, it's yours now. Of course it is. Whose else could it be? Don't you understand? You'll find out in that box everything your father didn't tell you."

Mrs. Cragg meant to awaken the girl's curiosity, but her words had a precisely opposite effect.

"Yes, perhaps. But I don't wish to find out anything my father did not wish me to know—anything he did not tell me."

"Really! I never did see such a girl. Why, everybody reads other people's papers after they're dead."

"Do they? I am not sure that I shall. At any rate, I shall not yet—not in a hurry. I think I will wait."

"There might be something or other that wants attending to. How do you know there isn't money inside?"

"No, he would have told me that."

"I suppose you've got the key?"

"I have—his keys." Pattie's eyes were full.

"And you don't mean to unlock it? You don't mean to see what is inside?"

"Not yet. I'll wait and think. I don't feel sure what I ought to do."

"Why, of course you ought to do what anybody else would do. As if it made any difference now—to him, I mean. Everybody does it always. The papers are yours, and you'll be expected to know what they are about."

Pattie moved towards the door.

"I should like to wait," she repeated gently. "It cannot matter to anybody except myself. I will have the things in my room—by-and-by."

"Well, I can only say I never came across such a girl!" declared Mrs. Cragg aloud, as Pattie went away.