Chapter 23 Sue, A Little Heroine by L. T. Meade
AMATEUR DETECTIVE
Mrs. Price had been blessed by nature with two sons, each as different in manners, disposition, appearance, and tastes as the poles. William, aged twenty, was dark, quiet-looking, with a grave and kind face. In disposition he was as fine a fellow as ever breathed, thoughtful for others, good to all, doing his duty because he loved and feared both God and his mother. He was very reserved, and seldom spoke, but when he did give utterance to his thoughts they were to the point and worth listening to. Mrs. Price was often heard to say that the mere presence of her elder son in the room gave her a sense of repose, that she felt that she had some one to lean on—which in truth she had.
James, her second and younger son, had not one of his brother's characteristics; he had no gentle courtesies, no quiet ways. Except when asleep, he was never known to be still for a moment. One glance at his fiery head, at his comical face, would show plainly that he was a very imp of mischief. He was kind-hearted—he would not willingly injure the smallest living thing—but his wild, ungovernable spirit, his sense of the ludicrous in all and every circumstance, made him sometimes do unintentional harm, and his mother had some difficulty in getting him out of the scrapes into which he was always putting himself. No work he had ever done had so delighted the boyish heart of James Price, alias Pickles, as the capture of Sue from the hands of the police. The whole story had a certain flavor about it which would be sure to captivate such a nature as his. Sue was innocent; he was quite certain of that. But then, as certainly some one else was guilty. Here, then, was a work after his own heart; he would find out who the guilty party was. He had a great deal of the detective about him; indeed, he had almost resolved to join that body when he was grown-up.
He had brought Sue to his mother; and his mother, too, believing in the girl's innocence, was yet much puzzled how to advise her or what to do with her. Sue, being thoroughly drilled and frightened into such a course by Pickles, had declared that nothing would induce her to go home; for that if she did she would certainly be taken to prison, and found guilty of a crime of which she was quite innocent. Mrs. Price, too, felt that she could not counsel Sue to go back, though the agony of the poor girl, when she thought of Giles waiting and longing for her, was sad to witness.
To comfort her a little, Pickles went to see Giles, being warned by Sue on no account to tell him the truth, which would, she said, absolutely and at once break his heart.
Pickles, winking profoundly, told her to leave it to him. He went, and Giles himself supplied him with an idea on which he was not slow to work. Giles was fully persuaded that Sue was in the country, and might not return for some days. He seemed more pleased than otherwise that she should be so employed. Pickles was so delighted with his own success that he danced a kind of hornpipe all the way home.
He found Sue by herself and very disconsolate, for Mrs. Price had gone out on some errands.
The first thing he did was to go up to her and give her two very fierce salutes, one on her brow, the other on the point of her chin.
"There, now," he said; "that 'ere little tender brother sent yer them."
"Oh Pickles! how is he? Is he wery cut up?" asked poor Cinderella, raising a tearful face.
"Cut up? Not a bit o' him! Why, he's quite perky; he think as you has gone to the country."
"Oh Pickles! how hever could he?"
"Well, listen, and I'll tell yer."
Pickles here related his whole interview, not forgetting to reproduce in full all his own clever speeches, and his intense admiration for Connie.
"I'd do a great deal fur you, Cinderella," he said in conclusion; "fur though ye're as ordinary a woman as I hiver met, yet still yer belongs to the species, and I has a weakness fur the species; but oh, lor'! ef it had been that 'ere Connie, why, I'd have a'most spilt my life-blood fur that hangelic creature."
"Well, yer see, it wor only me," said Sue, not a little piqued.
"Yes, it wor only you. But now, wot do you think of it all?"
"Oh! I'm wery glad and thankful that Giles is wid Connie. He wor halways fond of Connie, and I'm real pleased as he thinks as I'm gone to the country—that 'ull satisfy him ef hanythink will, fur he have sech a longing fur it, poor feller! But oh, Pickles! I do hope as you didn't tell him no lies, to make him so keen upon it."
"No—not I. I only nodded and made-believe as he wor clever. No, I wor careful o' the utterances o' the tongue, which is an unruly member."
"Well, I'm glad," said Sue. "I only hope as it ain't wrong to deceive him."
"No, it ain't a bit wrong; don't you go a fussing about nothink. But now you have got to listen to me, fur I have got something most serious to talk over."
"I'll listen," replied Sue.
"Good! And wot little bit o' brain you have you may stick inter the listening, too, fur you will presently have to think a deal."
"Wery well," answered Sue, who had long ago come to consider Pickles the greatest oracle she had ever seen.
Pickles planted himself on his knees in front of her, and having placed one hand firmly on each leg, bent forward until he brought himself into what he considered a telling position with regard to her face.
"Ef yer want to unearth a secret, stare 'em well right inter the heyes," was one of his detective principles.
"Now, Cinderella," he began, "you say as ye're hinnercent o' that 'ere theft?"
"You know I am," answered Sue.
"And yet that 'ere wauluable trinket wor found in yer pocket."
"Well, I can't help that."
"I'm afraid yer can't, Cinderella; and a wery ugly business it is fur yer; it 'ud bring yer in guilty in hany court wot hiver."
"I know that, Pickles—I know that only too well; that's why I'm here."
"An' you must stay yere until ye're proved hinnercent."
"Yes."
"Well, that may be awkward—not fur us, but fur poor, little tender Giles. He thinks as ye're gone to the country, and I give him to understand as yer would not be back fur maybe a day or two. But he's hall on a quiver fur yer to come back now; he's hall on a tremble to know wot the country is like. He says ye're to get a cottage as have a big winder in it, fur he wants to see the stars o' nights. Now, I think by the looks o' Giles as he'll fade away wery quick ef yer don't come back soon."
"Oh, I know it—I know it!" said Sue. "What shall I do? Ef I do go back I shall be tuk ter prison. Oh! oh! oh!" and she began to weep.
"Don't cry, you silly! Cryin' never mended no broken bones. You dry your eyes and listen when the oracle speaks."
"I will," said Sue, endeavoring to check her sobs.
"Well then, yer hinnercence must be proved. The way to prove yer hinnercence is to find hout who put that 'ere trinket in yer pocket."
"Oh Pickles! I don't—I don't think hany one could be so wicked."
"Bless yer, gel! yer hasn't gone about and seen life like me. 'Tis a wicked world, Cinderella. Some one put that locket in yer pocket; ef it worn't yerself, it wor another."
"I don't know why hany one should do it," said Sue.
"You leave that to me. The reason is a mystery; the person wot did it is a mystery; it remains fur this yere child"—giving his breast a great slap—"to unravel them both. Now, Cinderella, wot kind o' man wor that 'ere Peter Harris wot went wid yer to the shop?"
"He wor a wery rough kind o' man," said Sue, "and he often drank. He wor in trouble jest then 'bout Connie. Connie is his daughter. She wor away fur a bit, and had come back, and he wanted to give her a ring, and, as I telled yer, we went inter the shop to buy her one."
"And had that 'ere Harris much money?"
"He didn't say as he hadn't; he gave a sovereign to pay fur the ring."
"Don't yer think, Cinderella, as it wor he put the locket in your pocket?"
"Indeed I don't," answered Sue, in great indignation. "He wor a bit rough, and used to drink a good deal, but I never heerd mortal say as he worn't as honest a man as ever stepped. Besides, Pickles, he wor a friend to me, and I wor a friend to Connie, and even ef he wished to do something so desperate wicked he couldn't, fur I wor at the other side o' the shop a'most."
"All the same," replied Pickles, shaking his fiery head, "I believe as he did it. 'Tis a desperate big mystery, but I means to clear it hup, so you leave it ter me, Cinderella."