Chapter 18

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_ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

The speculum that was never to reflect the bright face of the moon was easily moved now, and Tom stooped down and picked up one by one the three triangular pieces, and laid them upon the bench, to find then that a good-sized elliptical piece, something in shape like a fresh-water mussel-shell, yet remained upon the stones. This he raised, and found that it fitted in at the edge beneath.

There was nothing to be gained in what he did, but Tom stood there carefully fitting the fractures together, and spending a great deal of time over the task, while the mirror reflected his sorrowful face as he bent over it. And as he ran his fingers along the three lines of union, the boy's thoughts went back to the scene that evening at Mornington Crescent, when the big china vase was dragged down, to break to shivers in the hall.

"And Sam said I broke that, just as David says I broke this, and all to escape blame. I don't want to tell uncle that David broke it, but I must; I'm not going to take the blame myself, for it would be cowardly as well as lying. But it is so hard. He will be so angry."

So Tom communed as he pieced the fragments of the mirror together, ending by getting the sponge, rinsing it well, and carefully removing a few smears and finger-marks, before taking a clean cloth and wiping it quite dry.

"That's no good," he said bitterly. "I'm only doing it so as to keep from going and telling uncle, and I must tell him--I must tell him, and the sooner the better."

But still he did not stir. He picked up the blanket, and folded that up neatly, to lay it beside the speculum, and then looked round for something else to do.

This he found in the window, which he opened and shut two or three times over, before drawing away from it, with a sigh, and going to the door to look across at the house, where his uncle would be writing.

"I ought to go and tell him, but it is so hard to do. Suppose he thinks it is my work--suppose David goes and accuses me of having broken it to escape himself."

Tom stood aghast at the idea, and was for rushing across at once, but something seemed to hold him back, and a good half-hour passed before he fully strung himself up to go.

Then, closing and locking the door, he did the same by the gate; and now, pale and firm enough, he hung up the keys, and then went straight to the study door, paused for a few moments to think what to say first, and then walked straight in.

"Uncle, I've come to give you very bad news," he said in a husky voice, and then he stopped short.

There was no one in the room, and on going out into the hall, he found that his uncle's hat and stick were missing, and consequently he must have gone down the village to post his letters, and perhaps drop in at the Vicarage on his return.

"Oh, how tiresome!" thought Tom; "just too when I felt I could tell him. Now I must begin all over again."

It was not until nearly two o'clock that Uncle Richard returned, looking very serious; and as they went into the little dining-room alone, Mrs Fidler having stopped back to give some orders respecting the dinner, Tom screwed himself up to make the announcement, which would have come easily enough if it had not been for David's charge, and a shrinking feeling which it had engendered, that Uncle Richard might fancy the same thing. But at last the boy, in his consciousness of innocence, was ready to speak, and turned to him.

"Uncle," he said quickly, "I want to say something to you about the speculum."

"Not now, my boy; I have something else to think about. Let that rest."

Tom's lips parted, and he drew a deep breath of relief at what seemed to him to be a reprieve. Then Mrs Fidler entered the room, and dinner commenced, with Uncle Richard looking very thoughtful.

It was impossible to say anything before Mrs Fidler, Tom thought, for if he was to be in any way blamed, he determined that it should be when alone. In addition, he felt that he should not like to speak of David's delinquency before the housekeeper.

It was a delicious dinner, but poor Mrs Fidler soon began to look troubled, for her master got on very badly; and Tom, who had felt as if his plate had been filled with bitter sand, so hard was the task of eating, refused a second help!

This was too much for Mrs Fidler, who looked piteously from one to the other, and exclaimed--

"Is there anything the matter with the veal pie, sir?"

"Eh? Matter, Mrs Fidler?" said Uncle Richard. "I hope not. I really don't know. Oh, I see. I have hardly tasted it. The fact is, Mrs Fidler, I am in trouble."

Tom jumped in his chair.

"David has told him," he said to himself, and he felt hot and cold.

"I have heard something this morning which has disturbed me a good deal."

Uncle Richard turned his eyes upon his nephew, who tried to speak, but no words would come.

"Dear, dear me, sir," said the housekeeper. "I am so sorry."

"I know you are," said Uncle Richard. "The fact is, my brother met with an accident some little time ago, and it was thought to be of no consequence, but it seems that it is, and the doctors have ordered that he should at once have change of air. He has written to me this morning to that effect."

"Then he don't know anything about it," said Tom, with a sigh of relief, which gave place to a feeling of annoyance, for he wished now that his uncle did know.

"He asks me to have him here for a few days or weeks, and of course I have written to beg that he will come. I hope our air will set him right again, and that it is not so serious as he thinks."

"Then you'd like me to get a room ready for him at once, sir?" said Mrs Fidler, with alacrity.

"If you please, Mrs F."

"It shall be done, sir. I am so glad--I mean so sorry. I was afraid something was wrong here."

"No, Mrs Fidler, there is nothing wrong here; but I'm afraid, Tom, that the visitor will put a stop to our telescopic work."

Tom seized his opportunity, and blurted out--

"It is stopped, uncle: the speculum is broken in three pieces."

"What!" cried Uncle Richard, turning pale.

"Completely spoiled, uncle."

"How, in the name of all that's unfortunate, did you do that, sir?"

It was Tom's turn to start now, for his uncle had immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was his doing, and his words in answer sounded lame and inconclusive.

"I didn't break it, uncle; I found it on the floor."

"Found it on the floor!" cried Uncle Richard, sarcastically. "It was the cat, I suppose. Was the window left open?"

"I found--"

"There, hold your tongue now," said Uncle Richard. "I have something else to think about. You will have everything ready, Mrs Fidler. I have been so separated from my brother nearly all my life, that I feel I owe him every attention."

"I will attend to it all most carefully."

"He may come down to-morrow, for I have written saying he is most welcome."

"Make yourself quite easy, sir. His room shall be ready. I beg pardon, sir; is his good lady coming with him?"

"No, he is coming down alone. I have told him to telegraph by what train, so that I may go and meet him."

The miserable dinner soon came to an end, and Uncle Richard, instead of chatting pleasantly, never so much as looked at his nephew. But Mrs Fidler did, with her head on one side; and every time Tom caught her eye, which seemed to be nearly every minute, she shook her head at him gently, and gave him such appealing looks, that he felt exasperated at last, and as if he would like to throw something at her.

"She thinks I did it now," he said to himself; and when his uncle left the table and went into his study he had full proof, for Mrs Fidler seized the opportunity, and shaking her head at him again, said in a whisper--

"Oh, Master Tom, my dear, the truth may be blamed, but can never be shamed."

"Well, I know that," cried the boy angrily.

"Hush, my dear! I know it's very hard, but do--do go and tell your uncle the truth, and he'll forgive you."

"I have told him the truth," cried Tom hotly.

"Oh, my dear, my dear, I'm afraid not, or else your face wouldn't be so dreadfully red and guilty-like, and I'm sure as your uncle thinks you broke it."

"Yes," cried Tom; "everybody seems to think so."

"Then pray, pray, my dear, be open."

"Don't, Mrs Fidler, don't," cried Tom pettishly. "I feel as if I can't bear it."

"Now, sir, I'm waiting," said Uncle Richard, suddenly appearing at the open window. "Come over to the observatory at once."

"Yes, uncle; coming," cried Tom.

"And do, pray, pray tell him all the truth, my dear," whispered Mrs Fidler.

"Ugh! you stupid old woman," exclaimed Tom to himself, as he ran out into the hall, got his cap, and followed his uncle, who was walking sharply on toward the mill-yard, with the keys hanging from his hand.

"And he's thinking all the time that I did it," muttered Tom. "He might have waited."

"Pst! pst!" came from among the bushes, and the boy turned sharply, to see David working his arms about like an old-fashioned telegraph.

"Can't stop. What is it?" said Tom roughly.

"I ain't going to stop you, Master Tom; but you go and tell the truth."

"Bah!" cried Tom.

"The truth may be shamed, sir, but can never be blamed," said the gardener oracularly.

"Get out, you topsy-turvy old humbug," cried Tom wrathfully. "Think I don't know you?" and he ran on, and caught up to his uncle as he was passing through the yard gate.

He did not speak, but went on toward the observatory door.

"Shall I open it, uncle?" said Tom eagerly.

"No," was the abrupt reply; and Tom shrank within himself like a snail touched with the end of a walking-stick on a damp night. Then the key was rattled into the lock, the door was thrown open, and Uncle Richard, looking very grave and stern, stalked into the workshop straight to the table, glanced at the speculum, and pushed the pieces apart, frowning angrily.

"I'd sooner have given a hundred pounds than that should have happened," he said.

"Yes, uncle; it's horrid," said Tom.

"How did you do it?" said Uncle Richard, turning sharply, and fixing him with his keen eyes, as he had often fixed some deceitful, shivering coolie, who had looked up to him in the past as master and judge in one.

"I didn't do it," cried Tom passionately. "Everybody misjudges me, and thinks it was I."

"Then how did it happen?"

Tom told him briefly.

"Was that window left open last night?"

"I don't think so, uncle; I'm almost sure I fastened it."

"Almost!" said Uncle Richard, in the same cold, hard way in which he had spoken before. "Then, sir, you accuse David of having meddled and broken it?"

"No, I don't, uncle," said Tom, speaking quite firmly now. "I told you everything."

"Fetch David."

Tom hurried out, and had no difficulty in finding the gardener, who had hardly stirred from where he had left him.

"I knowed the master'd want me. Did you own up, sir, like a man?"

"No, I didn't," said Tom angrily. "Come to uncle directly."

"Then--"

David said no more, but gave his old straw hat a smart rap on the crown, and walked sharply on before Tom, unrolling and shaking out his blue apron, prior to rolling it up again very tightly about his waist. He strode along so rapidly that Tom had hard work to keep up with him; and in spite of his efforts, David strode into the workshop first, pulled off his hat, dashed it down on the floor, and struck one hand loudly with his fist.

"What I say is this here, sir. I've sarved you faithful ever since you come back from the burning Ingies--"

"Silence!"

"And made the garden what it is--"

"Silence!" said Uncle Richard, more sternly.

"And if Master Tom's been telling you a pack o' lies about me--"

"Silence, man!" cried Uncle Richard angrily.

"Why, all I've got to say is--"

"Will you hold your tongue, sir? My nephew has not even accused you. He has merely told me his own version of the accident."

"Oh!" said David, looking from one to the other, thoroughly taken aback.

"Now give me your account, sir," continued Uncle Richard.

David threw in a few pieces of ornamentation about his narrative, but its essence was precisely the same as Tom's.

"Humph!" said Uncle Richard. "It looks as of one of you must be in fault."

"I take my solemn--"

"Silence, sir! you have spoken enough. Tell me this, as the man I have always been a good master to, and have always trusted. I know it is a serious thing, but I want the simple truth. Did you have an accident, and break that glass?"

"I wish I may die this minute if I did, sir," cried David; "and that's an awful thing to say."

"Thank you, David; I believe you," said Uncle Richard quietly, and the gardener's face glowed as he turned his eyes on Tom, and then frowned, and jerked his head, and seemed to say--

"Now out with the truth, my lad, like a man."

Tom was darting back an angry look, when his uncle turned to him, with eyes that seemed to read him through and through.

"I thought it was your doing at first, Tom, in my vexation," he said. "Then I suspected poor David here, very unwillingly. But you see we are at fault."

"Yes, uncle," cried Tom eagerly, for there was something in his uncle's tone, stern as it sounded, that was like a friendly grasp of the hand, and turning towards him, in quite an excited burst, he cried, "Then you don't think I did it?"

"Of course not, my boy. What have you ever done that I should doubt your word?"

Tom could not speak, but he made a snatch at his uncle's hand, to feel it close warmly upon his own.

David looked from one to the other, and then stooped and picked up his hat, put it on, recollected himself, and snatched it off again.

"Well," he said softly, "it's a rum 'un. If I didn't feel quite cock-sure as it was you, Master Tom, that I did. Then it warn't you, arter all! Then who was it? that's what I want to know."

"That's what we all want to know, David," said Uncle Richard, as he laid his hand now upon his nephew's shoulder, the firm pressure seeming to send a thrill of strength and determination through the boy's heart. "One thing is very plain--it could not have broken itself."

"But don't you think, Master Tom, as it might have gone down when you leaned over the wrapper?"

"Impossible," said Uncle Richard quickly. "The glass was far too heavy, as we well know, eh, Tom? Here, let's look out outside."

He led the way through the open door, and round to the window beneath which the speculum had lain upon the bench, and examined the lately made flower-bed, in which various creepers had been planted to run up the wall.

"There's no need to be in doubt," said Uncle Richard, pointing; and Tom uttered an excited cry, for there, deeply-marked beneath the window were the prints of heavy-nailed boots, doubled--by the toes pointing toward the mill, and by the appearance as of some one stepping partly into them again.

"Are those your footmarks, David?" said his master.

"Mine, sir? No. Mine's got tips on the toes. Look."

He lifted one leg across the other, as if he were going to be shod by a blacksmith, showing that his soles would have made a very different impression upon the soft earth.

"Why, sir," continued David with a smile, "I never leaves no footmarks. Natur' meant a man's hands to be used as rakes, or they would not 'a been this shape. I always gives the place a touch over where I've been."

"Yes," said Uncle Richard, nodding. "I have seen you."

"You ayve, sir, many times," said David, bending down; "and these here couldn't have been made by Master Tom, anyhow."

"Lend me your knife, David," said Uncle Richard.

"Knife, sir? Oh, I'll soon smooth them marks out."

"Stop!" cried Uncle Richard, and only just in time, for David's finger-rake was within an inch. "We may want to compare those with somebody's boots."

"Why o' course, sir," said the gardener, handing his knife already opened; when, placing one foot close against the bricks, Uncle Richard leaned across the bed, inserted the blade of the knife beside the iron casement frame, and with it lifted the fastening with the greatest ease.

David gave his leg a heavy slap.

"That was some 'un artful, sir, and he got in."

"Slipped in descending inside, and dragged the speculum on the floor," said Uncle Richard, frowning. "Now the question is, who was it?"

"Ah, who was it, sir?" said David. "Arn't such a great many folk in Furzebrough, and I should say as it lies between Parson Maxted and Pete Warboys, and it warn't parson, 'cause of the boots."

"I don't like to suspect unjustly," said Uncle Richard, "so don't say anything, David. I'll go down to the lad's home with my nephew here, and we'll see if we can find out whether he has been about here since yesterday."

"And you'll have your work cut out, sir," said David; "for that chap goes hawking about more like a ferret than aught else; but if it warn't him, Master Tom, I'll heat my head." _

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