The Story of Antony Grace. George Manville Fenn
“No, sir,” I said.
“All right then, I shan’t stay. Good-bye, young un. When are you going?”
“I’m not quite sure yet, sir.”
“No? Well, perhaps I shan’t see you again. Jabez Rowle, mind you. Tell him all about yourself, mind, and—good-bye.”
He trotted off, but came back directly, holding out his hand.
“God bless you, young un,” he said huskily. “Good-bye.”
Before I could speak again, the door closed sharply, and I was alone.
Chapter Eight.
I Take a Bold Step.
My head was in a whirl as soon as Mr. Rowle had gone, and I sat at my desk thinking over my project, for I had felt for days past that I could not stay where I was—that I would sooner die; and night after night I had lain awake thinking of the, to me, terrible step I proposed to take. My life at Mr. Blakeford’s had been such a scene of misery and torture, that I should have gone long enough before, had I dared. Now that I had grown older, and a little more confident, I had gradually nurtured the idea as my only hope, and the events of the past weeks had pretty well ripened my scheme.
As I sat there, I laid my arms on the big desk, and my head down upon them, trembling at my daring, as the idea took a far more positive shape than ever; and now a feeling of reluctance to leave had come upon me. Mary had been so kind; and then there was little Hetty, who had silently shown me so many tokens of her girlish goodwill.
I felt as I sat there, with the money and address in my pocket, that I must go now; and to act as a spur to my intentions, the words of Mr. Wooster came trooping across my memory.
Would Mr. Blakeford want me to go to the magistrates and say what was not true?
In imagination, I saw his threatening dark face before me, and his thin lips just parting to display his white teeth in that doglike smile of his, and I shuddered, as I felt how I feared him. It would be horrible to be threatened till I promised to say what he wished, and to lie to the magistrates with Mr. Wooster’s threatening face watching me the while.
But he would not ask me to tell a lie, I thought, and I could not run away. Mary would never forgive me, and Hetty would think that I really did cause her father to be so beaten. No: I felt I could not go, and that somehow I must get away from the house, go straight to Mr. Rowle’s lodgings, and give him back the money, which I had received upon such a false pretence.
It was all over. I felt the idea of freeing myself from my wretched slavery was one that could never be carried out, and I must wait patiently and bear my miserable lot.
Crack!
I leaped up as if I had been shot, to see Mr. Blakeford, in dressing-gown and slippers, his hair cut short, and looking very pale, standing in the office, the ruler in his hand, with which he had just struck the table and made me start.
“Asleep?” he said sharply.
“No, sir,” I said, trembling as I looked at him over the partition. “No, sir, I was not asleep.”
“It’s a lie, sir, you were asleep. Come here.”
I descended from the stool, and opening the partition door, went slowly into his part of the office, and stood by the table, his dark eyes seeming to pierce me through and through.
“Been worked so hard since I was ill, eh?” he said sneeringly.
“No, sir, I—”
“Hold your tongue. What’s the matter with your head?”
“My head, sir?” I stammered.
“Yes, that half-healed cut. Oh, I remember, you fell down didn’t you?”
“Fell down, sir! No, I—”
“You fell down—pitched down—I remember, while climbing.”
“No, sir, I—”
“Look here, you dog,” he hissed between his teeth; “you fell down, do you hear? and cut your head when climbing. Do you understand?”
“No, sir, I—”
“Once more, Antony Grace, listen to me. If anyone asks you how you came by that cut, mind—you fell down when climbing—you fell down when climbing. If you forget that—”
He did not finish, but seemed to hold me with his eye as he played with the ruler and made it go up and down.
“Look here, my boy, you are my clerk, and you are to do exactly as I tell you. Now, listen to me. The day after to-morrow there is to be a case of assault brought before the magistrates, and you will be sworn as a witness. You let Mr. Wooster in—curse him!—and you saw him come up to my table where I was sitting, and make a demand for money.”
“Please, sir, I did not hear him ask for money.”
“You did, sir,” he thundered; “and you saw him strike me with his stick.”
“Yes, sir, I saw him strike you,” I cried hastily. “Oh, you did see that, did you?” he said in sneering tones.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see the stick break?”
“Yes, sir,” I said eagerly.
“Oh, come; I’m glad you can remember that. Then he caught up the poker and beat me with it heavily across the body, till the poker was bent right round; and at last, when I was quite stunned and senseless, and with the blood streaming from my lips, he left me half dead and went away.”
There was a pause here, during which I could not take my eyes from his. “You saw all that, didn’t you?”
“No, sir,” I said, “he did not take the poker.”
“What?”
“He did not take the poker, sir.”
“Oh! and he did not beat me with it till it was bent?”
“No, sir.”
“Go and fetch that poker,” he said quietly; and I went trembling, and picked it up, to find it quite bent. “There, you see?” he said.
“Yes, sir, it is bent.”
“Of course it is, Antony. You don’t remember that he struck me with it, eh?”
“No, sir,” I said, trembling.
“Ah, I shall have to refresh your memory, my boy. You remember, of course, about the blood?”
“No, sir.”
“What’s that on the floor?”
I looked down at the place to which he pointed with the bent poker, and there were some dark stains where I had fallen. Then, raising my eyes to his again, I looked at him imploringly.
“I shall soon refresh your memory, Antony,” he said, laughing silently, and looking at me so that I shivered again. “You will find, on sitting down and thinking a little, that you recollect perfectly well how Mr. Wooster beat me cruelly with the poker, till it was bent like this, and left me bleeding terribly on the office floor. There, hold your tongue. You’ll recollect it all. Sit down and try and remember it, there’s a good boy. I’m better now, but I can’t talk much. Let me see, Antony, what time do you go to bed?”
“Nine o’clock, sir,” I faltered.
“Exactly. Well, don’t go to sleep,