‘It must be invention of the woman,’ said Mr. Deyncourt.
‘I hope so,’ was the answer.
‘Could Miss Rollstone have suspected it? She was very unlike what I have seen of her before.’
p. 257They separated for breakfast, agreeing to meet afterwards to hunt up the Jones family.
Ida had suffered a good deal all the night and morning as she wondered what her confession might entail on her. Sometimes she told herself that since it would come out in Herbert’s letters on the discovery of the child, it was well to have the honour of the first disclosure, and her brother was certain to keep her part in the matter a secret; but, on the other hand, she did not know how much Louisa might have told her mother, nor whether Mrs. Hall might persist in secrecy—nay, or even Rose. Indeed, she was quite uncertain how much Rose had understood. She could not have kept back guesses, and she did not believe in honour on Rose’s part. So she was nervous on finding that her uncle was gone out.
When he came in to breakfast, he merely made a morning greeting. Afterwards he scarcely spoke, except to answer an occasional remark from her mother. To herself, he neither looked nor spoke, but when Mrs. Morton declared that he looked the better for his morning walk, there was a half smile and light in his eye, and the weight seemed gone from his brow. Mrs. Morton asked what he was going to do.
‘I am going out with Mr. Deyncourt,’ he answered.
And Ida breathed more freely when he was gone.
But she little knew that Mr. Deyncourt had gone to Rose Rollstone in her father’s presence, and told her of Mrs. Hall’s revelations, asking her if this p. 258had been the cause of her silence. She had to own how the truth had flashed at once on her and Mr. Morton.
‘It would be so very dreadful for them if it were known,’ she said. ‘He thought if he brought back the boy, his sister’s part need not be known.’
‘Then that was the secret!’ exclaimed Mrs. Rollstone. ‘Well, I’ll not blame you, child, but you might have told us.’
Secrets were safe with the ex-butler, but not quite so much so with his wife, though all three tried to impress on her the need of silence, before Mr. Deyncourt hastened out to rejoin Lord Northmoor. The inquiry took a much longer time than they had expected, for the family wanted did not live in Mr. Deyncourt’s district, and they were misdirected more than once to people who disdained the notion of being connected with the Rattler, if they had ever heard of such a person. At last they did find a sister-in-law, who pronounced George Jones to be a good fellow, so far as she knew. He sent home to his mother regularly, and lately had had out his brother Sam, and a good job too, to have him out of the way, only what must he do but go and marry that there trollopy girl, as was no good.
Yes, George had written to say they had come safe to Toronto, but she did not hear as he said anything about a child. The letter was to his mother, who had taken it into the country when she went to stay with her daughter. This deponent didn’t know the address, and her husband was out with a yacht.
Nothing could be done but to pursue the mother p. 259to a village about five miles off, where she was traced out with some difficulty, and persuaded to refer to her son George’s letter, where he mentioned the safe arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Sam, but without a word about their bringing a child with them. This omission seemed to dash all former hopes, so as to show Frank how strong they had been, and besides, there had been more than time for Herbert to have written after reaching Toronto.
However, the one step of knowing George Jones’s address had been gained, and with no more than this, they had to return, intending to see whether Ida had any notion as to what was to be done.
It was evening when Lord Northmoor came in. Mrs. Morton was alone, and as she looked up, was answered by his air of disappointment as he shook his head.
‘Oh, it is so dreadful,’ she exclaimed, ‘it is all over the place! We met Mr. Brady and his sisters, and they cut Ida dead. She is quite broken-hearted, indeed, she is.’
‘Then she has told you all?’
‘She could not help it. Mrs. Rollstone came to ask me if it was true—as a friend, she said, I should say it was more like an enemy, and Mrs. Hall came too, wanting to see Ida, but I saw her instead. The wicked woman to have given in! And they have gone and told every one, and the police will be after my poor child.’
‘No, they would not interfere unless I prosecuted, and that I certainly should not do unless it proved the only means of tracing my child. I came home intending to ask Ida if she gave any directions p. 260about him. It seems certain that he was not brought to Toronto.’
‘Indeed! She made sure that he would be there!’ exclaimed Mrs. Morton, much dismayed. ‘Let me go and see. She is so much upset altogether that she declares that she cannot see you this evening.’
Mrs. Morton went, and presently brought word that Ida was horrified at hearing that little Michael was not with the Joneses. She had trusted Louisa to treat him kindly, and only dispose of him to some of those Canadian farmers, who seemed to have an unlimited appetite for adopted children, and the last hope was that this might have been the case, though opportunities could have been few on the way to Toronto.
Ida had cried over the tidings. It must have been worse than she had ever intended that the child should be treated; and the shock was great both to her and to her mother.
Mrs. Morton really seemed quite broken down, both by sorrow and fear for the boy, and by the shame, the dread of the story getting into the papers, and the sense that she could never go on living at Westhaven; and her brother-in-law quite overwhelmed her by saying that he should do all in his power to prevent publicity, and that he entirely exonerated her from all blame in the matter.
‘Ah, Frank dear,’ she said, ‘you are so good, it makes me feel what a sinful woman I am! I don’t mean that I ever gave in for a moment to that nonsense of poor Ida’s which was her only bit of excuse. No one that had ever been a mother could, p. 261you know; but I won’t say that I did not grumble at my boy losing his chances.’
‘I don’t wonder!’
‘And—and I never would listen to you and Mary about poor Ida. I let her idle and dress, and read all those novels, and it is out of them she got that monstrous notion. You little know what I have gone through with that girl,
