“Who says so? How do you know? Oh, dear; I am so happy, if it’s true.” Then she saw Mr. Toogood and, curtseyed.
“It is quite true, my dear,” said Mr. Walker. “Mr. Toogood has had a message by the wires from Mrs. Arabin at Venice. She is coming home at once, and no doubt everything will be put right. In the meantime, it may be a question whether we should not hold our tongues. Mr. Crawley himself, I suppose, knows nothing of it yet?”
“Not a word,” said Toogood.
“Papa, I must tell Miss Prettyman,” said Mary.
“I should think that probably all Silverbridge knows it by this time,” said Mrs. Walker, “because Jane was in the room when the announcement was made. You may be sure that every servant in the house has been told.” Mary Walker, not waiting for any further command from her father, hurried out of the room to convey the secret to her special circle of friends.
It was known throughout Silverbridge that night, and indeed it made so much commotion that it kept many people for an hour out of their beds. Ladies who were not in the habit of going out late at night without the fly from the “George and Vulture,” tied their heads up in their handkerchiefs, and hurried up and down the street to tell each other that the great secret had been discovered, and that in truth Mr. Crawley had not stolen the cheque. The solution of the mystery was not known to all—was known on that night only to the very select portion of the aristocracy of Silverbridge to whom it was communicated by Mary Walker or Miss Anne Prettyman. For Mary Walker, when earnestly entreated by Jane, the parlourmaid, to tell her something more of the great news, had so far respected her father’s caution as to say not a word about Mrs. Arabin.
“Is it true, Miss Mary, that he didn’t steal it?” Jane asked imploringly.
“It is true. He did not steal it.”
“And who did, Miss Mary? Indeed I won’t tell anybody.”
“Nobody. But don’t ask any more questions, for I won’t answer them. Get me my hat at once, for I want to go up to Miss Prettyman’s.” Then Jane got Miss Walker’s hat, and immediately afterwards scampered into the kitchen with the news.
“Oh, law, cook, it’s all come out! Mr. Crawley’s as innocent as the unborn babe. The gentleman upstairs what’s just come, and was here once before—for I know’d him immediate—I heard him say so. And master said so too.”
“Did master say so his own self?” asked the cook.
“Indeed he did; and Miss Mary told me the same this moment.”
“If master said so, then there ain’t a doubt as they’ll find him innocent. And who took’d it, Jane?”
“Miss Mary says as nobody didn’t steal it.”
“That’s nonsense, Jane. It stands to reason as somebody had it as hadn’t ought to have had it. But I’m as glad as anything as how that poor reverend gent’ll come off;—I am. They tells me it’s weeks sometimes before a bit of butcher’s meat finds its way into his house.” Then the groom and the housemaid and the cook, one after another, took occasion to slip out of the backdoor, and poor Jane, who had really been the owner of the news, was left alone to answer the bell.
Miss Walker found the two Miss Prettymans sitting together over their accounts in the elder Miss Prettyman’s private room. And she could see at once by signs which were not unfamiliar to her that Miss Anne Prettyman was being scolded. It often happened that Miss Anne Prettyman was scolded, especially when the accounts were brought out upon the table. “Sister, they are illegible,” Mary Walker heard, as the servant opened the door for her.
“I don’t think it’s quite so bad as that,” said Miss Anne, unable to restrain her defence. Then, as Mary entered the room, Miss Prettyman the elder laid her hands down on certain books and papers as though to hide them from profane eyes.
“I am glad to see you, Mary,” said Miss Prettyman, gravely.
“I’ve brought such a piece of news,” said Mary. “I knew you’d be glad to hear it, so I ventured to disturb you.”
“Is it good news?” said Anne Prettyman.
“Very good news. Mr. Crawley is innocent.”
Both the ladies sprung on to their legs. Even Miss Prettyman herself jumped up on to her legs.
“No!” said Anne.
“Your father has discovered it?” said Miss Prettyman.
“Not exactly that. Mr. Toogood has come down from London to tell him. Mr. Toogood, you know, is Mr. Crawley’s cousin; and he is a lawyer, like papa.” It may be observed that ladies belonging to the families of solicitors always talk about lawyers, and never about attorneys or barristers.
“And does Mr. Toogood say that Mr. Crawley is innocent?” asked Miss Prettyman.
“He has heard it by a message from Mrs. Arabin. But you mustn’t mention this. You won’t, please, because papa has asked me not. I told him that I should tell you.” Then, for the first time, the frown passed away entirely from Miss Prettyman’s face, and the papers and account-books were pushed aside, as being of no moment. The news had been momentous enough to satisfy her. Mary continued her story almost in a whisper. “It was Mrs. Arabin who sent the cheque to Mr. Crawley. She says so herself. So that makes Mr. Crawley quite innocent. I am so glad.”
“But isn’t it odd he didn’t say so?” said Miss Prettyman.
“Nevertheless, it’s true,” said Mary.
“Perhaps he forgot,” said Anne Prettyman.
“Men don’t forget such things as that,” said the elder sister.
“I really do think Mr. Crawley could forget anything,” said the younger sister.
“You may be sure it’s true,” said Mary Walker, “because papa said so.”
“If he said so, it must be true,” said Miss Prettyman; “and I am rejoiced. I really am rejoiced. Poor man! Poor ill-used man! And nobody has ever believed that he has really been
