Chapter XXV: Lottie's Confession

"MOTHER, Violet and I are very anxious to find out if it was really Lottie Medland who met with an accident in the Recreation Ground last night. May we go and inquire?" asked Ann, after breakfast, the following morning.

"Certainly," Mrs. Reed replied; "I would accompany you, but I have duties at home which I cannot very well put off. By the way, I'd rather you did not stop to look in the pawnshop window; your father will bring us news of the purse before the day is out."

"Very well, mother," acquiesced Ann.

"I shall only glance to see if the purse is there all right as we go by," said Violet.

And that was what she did. The one glance was sufficient to assure her that the purse had not been removed, and she was satisfied.

When the two girls arrived at the Medlands' home, Ann knocked gently upon the door, and her summons was answered more promptly than she had expected, not by Mrs. Medland, however, but by the little charwoman, Grace Jones.

"Oh, Miss Reed, is it you?" cried Grace, in a hushed voice; "I suppose you have heard about Lottie and have come to inquire for her. Please come inside."

"Then it was. Lottie," Violet whispered to Ann, as she followed her into the kitchen. Aloud she said: "Is Lottie much hurt?"

"Oh, yes, miss," Grace responded, "she's had a blow on her head and broken two ribs. Dr. Elizabeth says the ribs are the least of her injuries. She's been raving all night and Mrs. Medland's been up with her, but she's quieted down a bit now and seems more like herself. It did scare me to hear her going on like a mad thing, calling herself such dreadful names and saying as how she was a thief and would be sent to jail."

"Poor girl, she was delirious," said Ann; "I suppose her mother is with her now?"

"Yes, miss. I'll call Mrs. Medland, shall I?"

"No, no! You must not disturb her on our account. We only came to know if it was really Lottie who fell off the round-about last night—we had an idea it must have been—and, if so, to find out how she is. You think she is better this morning?"

"She is quieter, miss, so I suppose she is better."

"It must be dreadful to hear anyone raving in delirium," observed Violet, who was looking very grave and concerned.

"Oh, dreadful!" agreed the little charwoman. "If the police had really been after Lottie last night she couldn't have yelled louder," she proceeded; "and there was no sense in what she said—it was all about a purse she fancied she'd stolen. She'd keep on like this: 'It wasn't stealing—yes it was—she dropped it—nobody saw it but me—a tortoise-shell purse with money in it, lots of money!' She was just mazed, you know," she concluded, noticing that her graphic description of the sick girl's wandering talk was making a great impression upon her listeners. Violet and Ann had both started violently, and now they were exchanging glances expressive of mingled bewilderment and dismay.

"Did she say a tortoise-shell purse?" asked Ann, in a shocked tone.

"Yes, miss, she kept on about it, and once she said 'a tortoise-shell purse with a golden clasp.' Oh, she was clean off her head! No one could make any sense of what she said, except to understand that she was in dreadful fear of being sent to jail. But here comes Mrs. Medland; she'll be able to tell you more about Lottie than I can."

"I recognised your voices," Mrs. Medland said, as she entered the room. "Grace, will you go and sit with Lottie for a while?" Then, as soon as the little charwoman had gone upstairs, she added: "I take it as very kind of you two young ladies to come to me in this fresh trouble."

"Please tell us how Lottie is," said Ann earnestly.

"She's very ill, miss, there's no doubt of that, but Dr. Elizabeth says there's no reason why she shouldn't pull through if she's kept quiet. She's terribly bruised one side—the side on which she fell, you know she fell off the round-about—and two of her ribs are broken, and she's had a nasty blow on the head—that's what Dr. Elizabeth thinks most seriously of."

"Is she asleep now?" asked Violet.

"No, miss, but she's lying quiet—very different from what she was a few hours ago. She doesn't know you're here, I believe if she did she'd want to see you, Miss Ann, for in the night she kept on talking about you, begging me to send for you because there was something she wanted to tell you about before she died. She talked a lot of nonsense, but I could catch a grain of sense in it now and again. She said that you'd offered to be her friend—oh, miss, was that true? Yes, Then, perhaps the rest was true, too, but no, no, I can't believe it! Maybe you'll know. She kept on repeating that she was a thief—that she had stolen a purse—oh, Miss Ann, there isn't any truth in that, is there?"

"I—I don't know," faltered Ann, looking anxiously at Violet, who, with flushed cheeks and eyes gleaming with excitement, was listening with breathless interest; "I don't know how she could have done it, but—oh, Vi, don't you remember Lottie called at our house that evening Agnes lost her purse? Why, she was in the hall when Agnes left!"

"I remember! I thought of that just now!"

Violet answered, trying to speak quietly, but failing in the attempt; her voice sounded hoarse and unnatural.

"Did someone lose a purse then, really?" Mrs. Medland asked, glancing from one to the other of the girls, a piteous look on her startled face.

"Yes, a school-fellow of ours did," replied Ann.

"Was it a tortoise-shell purse, miss, with a golden clasp?" Mrs. Medland interrogated, her lips quivering as she put the question.

"It was," Violet answered eagerly, "do you think—"

She stopped abruptly, for the poor mother had quite broken down, and was weeping in a heart-broken fashion most painful to witness. A long silence followed, and, before Mrs. Medland had regained her composure, Grace Jones appeared upon the threshold of the room and addressed herself to Ann.

"Lottie wanted to know who was downstairs," she said, "and I told her you had come on purpose to inquire for her, miss; she wishes to see you if you'll be so kind as to come upstairs to her. She seems all right in her head now."

Mrs. Medland glanced doubtfully at Ann, who, however, rose directly, and declared her willingness to comply with Lottie's request; accordingly Mrs. Medland preceded her upstairs to Lottie's room.

The injured girl lay with her face turned towards the door, and, at the sight of Ann, a feverish light leaped into her blue eyes, and she cried excitedly:—

"I'm dying, Miss Ann, I know I'm dying!"

"Oh, I trust not, and indeed I don't think so," answered Ann, speaking calmly though her heart was beating unevenly and she was conscious of a sensation of alarm, for Lottie's countenance was ghastly in its pallor; "Dr. Elizabeth says you must keep quiet—"

"I can't keep quiet," Lottie interrupted; "my brain feels on fire! Miss Ann, there's something I must tell you before I die, something I haven't dared speak of to a soul! Mother, you listen, too!

"Do you remember, one evening last March, when I called at your house, Miss Ann, with some work Malvina had done for Mrs. Reed, and I waited in the hall? Well," she continued as Ann nodded assent, "it was then it happened—what I am going to tell. You had a visitor, a stylishly dressed young lady, and whilst I was waiting, a lady, one of the governesses at Helmsford College—I know because I've seen her walking with some of the pupils—arrived to fetch her home. The young lady came downstairs with her muff under her arm. She was putting on her gloves, and, as she reached the mat at the bottom of the stairs, I saw something fall out of her muff—it was a purse. No one noticed it but me, for it fell on the mat—a sheep's wool mat very thick and soft—and made no sound. I—I—when no one was looking—I picked it up and put it in my pocket, and—and I kept it. Yes, I kept it, although I saw the notices about it posted all over the town. I-I wanted money so much— oh, you don't know how much!"

"Oh, Lottie, Lottie!" wailed Mrs. Medland. She was confident that her daughter was telling the truth; there was no appearance of delirium about her now. "Oh, what could have possessed you to do it? Oh, how could you have been such a wicked, wicked girl? What have you done with the purse? Was there much money in it?" She was wringing her hands distractedly.

"I spent the money in betting," Lottie admitted, still addressing Ann, "it was more than a pound, but I didn't win anything by it. I didn't know what to do with the purse, but one day I showed it to a friend of mine and told her I'd found it, and she suggested that, as I was short of money, I might pawn it. I was afraid the pawnbroker would ask me where I had got it, but he didn't. I said I would rather sell it than pawn it, so he bought it from me for half-a-crown."

There was a brief silence. Ann's face had become almost as pale as the one which rested on the pillow; she was so shocked that she could find no words to say.

"Now you know the sort of girl you offered your friendship to," Lottie proceeded presently, her voice sounding weaker; "it's no good my saying I'm sorry, but, oh, I've suffered terrible! I wanted money so badly, but I've never had a happy moment since I stole the purse. I never dared speak of it till now; if Malvina had known what I'd done 'twould have nigh broken her heart! But I couldn't die with it on my conscience, and I believe I shall die! Oh, Miss Ann, do you think God will forgive a bad girl like me?"

"Oh, yes, indeed He will," Ann rejoined earnestly; "if you are truly sorry for what you have done. God wants to forgive our sins. He sent His own Son to bear the punishment of them, that we might be forgiven if we repent. Tell God that you are truly sorry, Lottie, and ask Him to forgive you for Jesus' sake. If we confess our sins, you know, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins. Oh, poor Lottie, what you must have suffered!"

"You can speak to me like that—so gently and kindly—and me a thief? Why, I thought for certain you'd turn from me when you knew!" Lottie raised herself in bed in her excitement, then sank back again with a groan. "Oh, my head!" she moaned, "how it does ache! And I can scarcely breathe!"

"You must lie still and try not to worry," Ann said soothingly; "you have done very wrongly, but I am sure that you would act very differently now. I am glad you have told me about the purse; but you need not fear that you will be sent to jail for having stolen it; several people will have to be told that you took it, however. When you are better I will come to see you again, you are not fit to talk more at present. Try to keep quiet."

"Are you sure I shall not be arrested and sent to jail?" Lottie asked, feverishly, "I don't mind so much for myself, I feel I don't care what happens to me now, but mother—" She broke off and turned her gaze upon the grief-stricken figure of poor Mrs. Medland.

"No one will wish you to be punished more than you have been," said Ann; "I think your remorse must have been a heavy punishment, indeed."

"Yes," admitted Lottie, and she burst into tears. The next instant her mother's arms were round her, and she was sobbing forth her grief and repentance upon her mother's breast.

Ann left her, still weeping, to Mrs. Medland's care, and went downstairs. She was feeling unnerved herself, and was longing to get home to tell her mother all that had occurred; so, after bidding good-bye to the little charwoman, she and Violet took their departure. They had left the poorer part of the town behind them before Ann was sufficiently composed to give her companion an account of her interview with Lottie, and when at last she did so, it brought an indignant flow of words in return.

It was but natural that Violet should experience a keen sense of resentment against the girl whose act of dishonesty had caused so much pain and humiliation to herself; but, before Laureston Square was reached, her just anger began to cool, and by-and-by she said:—

"I'm sorry if I've spoken too harshly about Lottie, Ann. I daresay, as you say, she was greatly tempted, and—and although I've never done anything actually dishonest, I've done many things I'm ashamed to remember—mean things which haven't been right or straight. Poor Lottie, she must have been in a terrible state of fear all these past weeks since she stole the purse; I daresay she'll be happier in her mind now she's confessed the truth. I do hope she'll get over her accident all right."

"If she does I believe she'll be a different sort of girl," Ann replied. "Your character must be cleared, Violet," she continued, "there will be no difficulty about doing that now; but I wish it could be done without Lottie's being branded as a thief," she added, and with this sentiment Violet cordially acquiesced.

Mrs. Reed was greatly amazed at the news the girls brought her; and, when the doctor returned from his morning round of visits, he was immediately informed of the real facts in connection with the loss of the purse. He listened attentively to all there was to tell, then put his hand into the breast pocket of his coat and drew forth the identical article in question, which he handed to Violet who examined it in silence before she passed it to Ann.

"Yes," said Ann, "I believe it is Agnes' purse, don't you, Violet?"

"Oh, Ann, I feel certain it is!" declared Violet, decidedly.

"I feel certain it is, too," agreed Dr. Reed, "for the pawnbroker was able to give me the name of the girl from whom he purchased it. It seems he asked her what she was called and she told him 'Charlotte Medland,' so you see if she had not confessed her sin it would have been brought home to her. The pawnbroker was very glad to let me have the purse for a few shillings; my opinion is that he suspected it had been stolen—he may very probably have seen the bills announcing its loss after having bought it—and was grateful to me for having refrained from seeking police assistance."

"The matter shall be put straight now. I shall give the purse to Miss Orchardson, explain everything to her, and leave her to deal with Miss Agnes Hosking, who doubtless will be satisfied, if she obtains her purse again, to let the thief go Scot free, especially if she gets her money back, too. Yes, I shall certainly make good the money," he said, as his companions glanced at him inquiringly, "for the purse was lost in my house, and—well, I shall feel more satisfied to do so."

It proved that the doctor's surmise was right, for when, on the night of her return to Helmsford College, Miss Orchardson called Agnes Hosking into her private sitting-room, and explained to her that her purse had been found, and put it into her hand, she paid little heed to the headmistress' explanation that she had dropped it at the foot of the stairs at Dr. Reed's, and that it had been picked up by a poor factory girl who had been sent on an errand to the doctor's house, and she did not even inquire the thief's name.

"Why, here is the money too!" she exclaimed, in astonishment and delight, as she opened the purse and saw its contents.

"Yes," assented Miss Orchardson coldly, "so you have actually lost nothing. I trust now that you recognise how cruel and unjustifiable your suspicion of Violet Wyndham has been."

"I—I knew she was poor," stammered Agnes, "and I thought she might have been tempted to take it, and—and—" She paused, quailing beneath the severity of the headmistress' gaze for a minute, then she admitted in an abashed tone: "I have been wrong."

"Very wrong," agreed Miss Orchardson; and, forthwith, she gave Agnes such a talking to as that young person had never listened to in her life before, so that when the girl left her presence, it was as though a veil had been torn from her eyes, and, for the first time, she saw in its true light her past conduct towards the school-fellow she had maligned, and very ugly and mean-spirited it looked.