A Son of Mars. Griffiths Arthur

To the right, under the arch leading to the casemate barracks at Triggertown, dwelt Jonadab Larkins, a deserving public servant who had enjoyed the proud position of barrack sergeant for some years. He was like the old lady who lived in the shoe. He had more children than he could do with comfortably, so he gave it up as a bad job, and let them do for themselves. Mrs. Larkins, what with cooking, cleaning, and the family washing, had no spare time on her hands; and except to yell out shrill cautions which no one heeded, or threats of corporal punishment which were forgotten as soon as uttered, allowed her brood to risk their lives as freely as they pleased. They had many outlets of this kind; one favourite amusement was to hang themselves to the chains of the drawbridge leading to the barracks; another to walk along the brick edge of the counterscarp; but that which all enjoyed most was to watch the approach of vehicles in the main thoroughfare, and to rush madly across the road right under the horses’ feet. It was often a very near thing; and the nearer they went to self immolation the better they were pleased. But the pitcher goes once too often to the well. One fine day there was a tremendous disturbance in the street; a crowd gathered quickly, and presently a message reached Mrs. Larkins that one of her bairns had been driven over and was killed.

‘Which on ’em is it?’ shrieked the red-armed but pleasant-visaged dame. ‘Not Rechab, nor yet Sennacherib, nor yet Jemimer Ann?’

No; it was Hercules Albert, the eldest of the family, who was just then carried in and laid upon the bed.

A lady—a middle-aged lady, with silver white hair and a worn emaciated face—followed, and looking round with a strange wild look in her eyes, asked almost hysterically:

‘Is he much injured? Will he live? Where are the people who call themselves his parents?’

The lad was only stunned, and a little water quickly brought him to.

‘I should have been so grieved had he come to harm,’ went on the lady. ‘It was my coachman’s fault. It has been a terrible shock to me; quite terrible. But tell me—’

She looked hastily round, then whispered to Larkins—

‘How did you come by this child?’

The Sergeant stared at her in amazement—

‘Honestly! Why, it’s our own—leastways it’s the mother’s.’

‘Do you mean that you are its mother?’ she asked of Mrs. Larkins.

‘Certainly I do! Do you dispute it?’

‘Mother? Yes. It may be so. But you, you man, you are not his father? You cannot be. It is impossible, simply impossible. Why, the child has his eyes; his own dear eyes, I could swear to them among a thousand. You cannot, you shall not deceive me. How came you by this child?’

‘He’s not my own son, that I won’t deny,’ said the Sergeant. ‘But he is my missus’s; she was a widow when I married her, and—’

‘I must have the boy. You cannot refuse him to me. I will buy him of you; will pay you any price you please. But he must leave this place. It is no place for him.’

And she gazed scornfully at the humble surroundings. The little dark vaulted room with its one deep recessed window, its inner space curtained off to form a second bedroom, the litter and mess about the floor.

‘This is no place for—’

She paused suddenly, and a wild scared look came over her face. A footman, one of her own people, a tall, black-whiskered and pompous Jeames, was standing in the doorway, and the sudden apparition seemed to put a seal upon her tongue.

‘The horses, m’lady,’ said the man respectfully enough, although there was an accent of authority in his voice. ‘The horses have been standing nearly half an hour, m’lady, and the coachman says—’

‘Yes, yes, I’ll come at once—at once, Robert. Good people, you will understand my anxiety for the boy. The blame rested so entirely upon us. It is an immense relief to know that he is not injured.’

Then watching her opportunity, she hissed out with frenzied eagerness—

‘Not a word to a soul; not a syllable, as you value his future and my peace. I will come again to-morrow, or sooner, unattended. H—sh, for heaven’s sake, h—sh,’ and she hurriedly left the room.

‘Well, I’m blowed,’ said the Sergeant, drawing a long breath. ‘If that ain’t the rummest game. What does it mean, missus? Can you tell?’

Mrs. Larkins met his inquiring eyes quite steadily, and if she was conscious of any mystery no suspicion of it could be traced in her voice and manner.

‘She must be off her head—that’s my notion—clean, stark, staring mad.’

‘And mine too. Yon flunkey

Скачать книгу