True Riches: Wealth Without Wings

Scarcely had Edward Claire left the store of Jasper, ere the latter went out hurriedly, and took his way to the office of Grind, the lawyer, to whom he said, as he entered—­

“It’s just as I feared.  The miserable wretch proved as intractable as iron.”  Jasper was not only strongly excited, but showed, in his voice and manner, that he had suffered no ordinary disappointment.

“Couldn’t you buy him over?” There was a mixture of surprise and incredulity in the lawyer’s tones.

“No,” was the emphatic response.

“That’s strange!  He’s poor?”

“He gets five hundred a year, and has a wife and three children to support.”

“Why didn’t you tempt him with the offer to get him a place worth a thousand?”

“I did.”

“With what effect?”

“He wouldn’t give up the child.”

“Humph!”

“Isn’t it too bad, that a mean-souled fellow like him should stand in our way at such a point of time?  I could spurn him with my foot!  Hah!”

And Jasper clenched his teeth and scowled malignantly.

“I am disappointed, I confess”, said Grind.  “But angry excitement never helped a cause, good or bad.  We must have possession of this child somehow.  Martin came down from Reading this morning.  I saw him but an hour ago.”

“Indeed!  What does he say?”

“The indications of coal are abundant.  He made very careful examinations at a great number of points.  In several places he found it cropping out freely; and the quality, as far as he was able to judge, is remarkably good.”

“Will he keep our secret?” said Jasper.

“It is his interest to do so.”

“We must make it his interest, in any event.  No time is now to be lost.”

“I agree with you there.  A single week’s delay may ruin every thing.  The coal is our discovery, and we are, in all equity, entitled to the benefit.”

“Of course we are.  It’s a matter of speculation, at best; the lucky win.  If we can get an order for the sale, we shall win handsomely.  But, without producing the child, it will be next to impossible to get the order.  So we must have her, by fair means or by foul.”

“We must,” said the lawyer, compressing his lips firmly.

“And have her now.”

“Now,” responded Grind.

Jasper rose to his feet.

“It’s easy enough to say what we must have,” remarked Grind, “but the means of gaining our ends are not always at hand.  What do you propose doing?”

“I shall get the child.”

“Don’t act too precipitately.  Violence will excite suspicion, and suspicion is a wonderful questioner.”

“We must play a desperate game, as things now are, or not play at all,” said Jasper.

“True; but the more desperate the game, the more need of coolness, forethought, and circumspection.  Don’t forget this.  How do you mean to proceed?”

“That is yet to be determined.”

“Will you make another effort to influence Claire?”

“No.”

“Do you regard him as altogether impracticable?”

“No influence that I can bring would move him.”

“You will, then, resort to stratagem or force?”

“One or the other—­perhaps both.  The child we must have.”

“Let me beg of you, Jasper, to be prudent.  There is a great deal at stake.”

“I know there is; and the risk increases with every moment of delay.”

Grind showed a marked degree of anxiety.

“If the child were in our possession now,” said Jasper, “or, which is the same, could be produced when wanted, how soon might an order for the sale be procured?”

“In two or three weeks, I think,” replied the lawyer.

“Certain preliminary steps are necessary?”

“Yes.”

“If these were entered upon forthwith, how soon would the child be wanted?”

“In about ten days.”

“Very well.  Begin the work at once.  When the child is needed, I will see that she is forthcoming.  Trust me for that.  I never was foiled yet in any thing that I set about accomplishing, and I will not suffer myself to be foiled here.”

With this understanding, Jasper and the lawyer parted.

A week or more passed, during which time Claire heard nothing from the guardian of Fanny; and both he and his wife began to hope that no further attempt to get her into his possession would be made, until the child had reached her twelfth year.

It was in the summer-time, and Mrs. Claire sat, late in the afternoon of a pleasant day, at one of the front-windows of her dwelling, holding her youngest child in her arms.

“The children are late in coming home from school,” said she, speaking aloud her thought.  “I wonder what keeps them!”

And she leaned out of the window, and looked for some time earnestly down the street.

But the children were not in sight.  For some five or ten minutes Mrs. Claire played with and talked to the child in her arms; then she bent from the window again, gazing first up and then down the street.

“That’s Edie, as I live!” she exclaimed.  “But where is Fanny?”

As she uttered this inquiry, a sudden fear fell like a heavy weight on her heart.  Retiring from the window, she hastened to the door, where, by this time, a lady stood holding little Edie by the hand.  The child’s eyes were red with weeping.

“Is this your little girl?” asked the lady.

“Oh, mamma! mamma!” cried Edie, bursting into tears, as she sprang to her mother’s side and hid her face in her garments.

“Where did you find her, ma’am?  Was she lost?” asked Mrs. Claire, looking surprised as well as alarmed.  “Won’t you walk in, ma’am?” she added, before there was time for a reply.

The lady entered, on this invitation, and when seated in Mrs. Claire’s little parlour, related that while walking through Washington Square, she noticed the child she had brought home, crying bitterly.  On asking her as to the cause of her distress, she said that she wanted Fanny:  and then ran away to some distance along the walks, searching for her lost companion.  The lady’s interest being excited, she followed and persuaded the child to tell her where she lived.  After remaining some time longer in the square, vainly searching for Fanny, she was induced to let the lady take her home.  After hearing this relation, Mrs. Claire said to Edith, in as calm a voice as she could assume, in order that the child might think without the confusion of mind consequent upon excitement—­

“Where is Fanny, dear?”

“She went with the lady to buy some candies,” replied the child.

“What lady?” asked the mother.

“The lady who took us to the square.”

“The lady who took you to the square?” said the mother, repeating the child’s words from the very surprise they occasioned.

“Yes, mamma,” was the simple response.

“What lady was it?”

“I don’t know.  She met us as we were coming home from school, and asked us to go down and walk in the square.  She knew Fanny.”

“How do you know, dear?” disked Mrs. Claire.

“Oh, she called her Fanny; and said what a nice big girl she was growing to be.”

“And so you went down to the square with her?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what then?”

“We walked about there for a little while, and then the lady told me to wait while she took Fanny to the candy-store to buy some candy.  I waited, and waited ever so long; but she didn’t come back; and then I cried.”

The meaning of all this, poor Mrs. Claire understood but too well.  With what a shock it fell upon her.  She asked no further question.  What need was there?  Edie’s artless story made every thing clear.  Fanny had been enticed away by some one employed by Jasper, and was now in his possession!  With pale face and quivering lips, she sat bending over Edie, silent for several moments.  Then recollecting herself, she said to the lady—–­

“I thank you, ma’am, most sincerely, for the trouble you have taken in bringing home my little girl.  This is a most distressing affair.  The other child has, evidently, been enticed away.”

“You will take immediate steps for her recovery,” said the lady.

“Oh, yes.  I expect my husband home, now, every moment.”

While she was yet speaking, Claire came in.  Seeing the white face of his wife, he exclaimed—­

“Mercy, Edith!  What has happened?”

Edith could only murmur the word “Fanny,” as she started forward, and buried her face, sobbing, on his bosom.

“Fanny!  What of her?  Oh, Edith! speak!”

The agitation of the wife was, for the time, too overpowering to admit of words, and so Claire turned to the lady and said, hurriedly—­

“Will you tell me, madam, what has happened?”

“It appears, sir,” she replied, “that a strange lady enticed the children to Washington Square, on their way from school”—­

“And then carried off our dear, dear Fanny!” sobbed out Edith.

“Carried off Fanny!” exclaimed Claire.

“This lady,” said Edith, growing calmer, “found our little Edie crying, in the square, and brought her home.  Edie says the lady took them down there, and then told her to wait until she went with Fanny to buy some candies.  They went, but did not return.”

The meaning of all this was quite as clear to the mind of Edward Claire as it was to his wife.  He understood, likewise, that this was the work of Jasper, and that Fanny was now in his possession.  What was to be done?

“Our first step,” said Claire, after the stranger had retired, “must be to ascertain, if possible, whether what we believe to be true in regard to Fanny is really true.  We must know certainly, whether she be really in the hands of Mr. Jasper.”

“Where else can she be?” asked Edith, a new fear throwing its quick flash into her face.

“We, naturally,” replied her husband, “take it for granted that Mr. Jasper has put his threat into execution.  There is a bare possibility that such is not the case; and we must not rest until we have, on this point, the most absolute certainty.”

“For what other purpose could she have been enticed away?” said Mrs. Claire, her face again blanching to a deadly paleness.

“We know nothing certain, Edith; and while this is the case, we cannot but feel a double anxiety.  But, I must not linger here.  Be as calm as possible, my dear wife, in this painful trial.  I will go at once to Mr. Jasper, and learn from him whether he has the child.”

“Go quickly, Edward,” said Edith.  “Oh! it will be such a relief to have a certainty; to know even that she is in his hands.”

Without further remark, Claire left his house and hurried off to the store of Jasper.  The merchant was not there.  From one of his clerks he learned his present residence, which happened not to be far distant.  Thither he went, and, on asking to see him, was told by the servant that he was not at home.  He then inquired for Mrs. Jasper, who, on being summoned, met him in one of the parlours.  The manner of Claire was very much agitated, and he said, with an abruptness that evidently disconcerted the lady—­

“Good evening, madam!  My name is Claire.  You remember me, of course?”

The lady bowed coldly, and with a frown on her brow.

“Is little Fanny Elder here?” was asked, and with even greater abruptness.

“Fanny Elder?  No!  Why do you ask that question?”

There was something so positive in the denial of Mrs. Jasper, that Claire felt her words as truth.

“Not here?” said he, catching his breath in a gasping manner.  “Not here?”

“I said that she was not here,” was the reply.

“Oh, where then is she, madam?” exclaimed the young man, evincing great distress.

“How should I know?  Is she not in your possession?  What is the meaning of this, Mr. Claire?”

The lady spoke sternly, and with the air of one both offended and irritated.

“Somebody enticed her away, on her return from school this afternoon,” said Claire.  “Mr. Jasper said that he would have her; and my first and natural conclusion was that he had executed his threat.  Oh, ma’am, if this be so, tell me, that my anxiety for the child’s safety may have rest.  As it is, I am in the most painful uncertainty.  If she is here, I will feel, at least”—­

“Have I not told you that she is not here, and that I know nothing of her,” said Mrs. Jasper, angrily, interrupting the young man.  “This is insolent.”

“How soon do you expect Mr. Jasper home?” inquired Claire.

“Not for several days,” replied Mrs. Jasper.

“Days!  Is he not in the city?”

“No, sir.  He left town yesterday.”

Claire struck his hands together in disappointment and grief.  This confirmed to him the lady’s assertion that she knew nothing of Fanny.  In that assertion she had uttered the truth.

Sadly disappointed, and in far deeper distress of mind than when he entered the house, Edward Claire retired.  If Mr. Jasper left the city on the day previous, and his wife had, as he could not help believing, no knowledge whatever of Fanny, then the more distressing inference was that she had been enticed away by some stranger.

On his way home, Claire called again at the store of Jasper.  It occurred to him to ask there as to his absence from the city.  The reply he received was in agreement with Mrs. Jasper’s assertion.  He had left town on the previous day.

“Where has he gone?” he inquired.

“To Reading, I believe,” was the answer.

“Will he return soon?”

“Not for several days, I believe.”

With a heavy heart, Claire bent his way homeward.  He cherished a faint hope that Fanny might have returned.  The hope was vain.  Here he lingered but a short time.  His next step was to give information to the police, and to furnish for all the morning papers an advertisement, detailing the circumstances attendant on the child’s abduction.  This done, he again returned home, to console, the best he could, his afflicted wife, and to wait the developments of the succeeding day.

Utterly fruitless were all the means used by Claire to gain intelligence of the missing child.  Two days went by, yet not the least clue to the mystery of her absence had been found.  There was no response to the newspaper advertisements; and the police confessed themselves entirely at fault.

Exhausted by sleepless anxiety, broken in spirit by this distressing affliction, and almost despairing in regard to the absent one, Mr. and Mrs. Claire were seated alone, about an hour after dark on the evening of the third day, when the noise of rumbling wheels ceased before their door.  Each bent an ear, involuntarily, to listen, and each started with an exclamation, as the bell rang with a sudden jerk.  Almost simultaneously, the noise of wheels was again heard, and a carriage rolled rapidly away.  Two or three quick bounds brought Claire to the door, which he threw open.

“Fanny!” he instantly exclaimed; and in the next moment the child was in his arms, clinging to him, and weeping for joy at her return.

With a wonderful calmness, Mrs. Claire received Fanny from her husband, murmuring as she did so, in a subdued, yet deeply gratified voice—­

“O, God!  I thank thee!”

But this calmness in a little while gave way, and her overstrained, but now joyful feelings, poured themselves forth in tears.

Poor child!  She too had suffered during these three never-to-be-forgotten days, and the marks of that suffering were sadly visible in her pale, grief-touched countenance.

To the earnest inquiries of her foster-parents, Fanny could give no very satisfactory answer.  She had no sooner left the square with the lady mentioned by little Edith, than she was hurried into a carriage, and driven off to the cars, where a man met them.  This man, she said, spoke kindly to her, showed her his watch, and told her if she would be a good girl and not cry, he would take her home again.  In the cars, they rode for a long time, until it grew dark; and still she said the cars kept going.  After a while she fell asleep, and when she awoke it was morning, and she was lying on a bed.  The same lady was with her, and, speaking kindly, told her not to be frightened—­that nobody would hurt her, and that she should go home in a day or two.

“But I did nothing but cry,” said the child, in her own simple way, as she related her story.  “Then the lady scolded me, until I was frightened, and tried to keep back the tears all I could.  But they would run down my cheeks.  A good while after breakfast,” continued Fanny, “the man who had met us at the cars came in with another man.  They talked with the lady for a good while, looking at me as they spoke.  Then they all came around me, and one of the men said—­

“’Don’t be frightened, my little dear.  No one will do you any harm; and if you will be a right good girl, and do just as we want you to do, you shall go home to-morrow.’

“I tried not to cry, but the tears came running down my face.  Then the other man said sharply—­

“’Come now, my little lady, we can’t have any more of this!  If you wish to go home again tomorrow, dry your tears at once.  There! there!  Hush all them sobs.  No one is going to do you any harm.’

“I was so frightened at the way the man looked and talked, that I stopped crying at once.

“‘There!’ said he, ‘that is something like.  Now,’ speaking to the lady, ‘put on her things.  It is time she was there.’

“I was more frightened at this, and the men saw it; so one of them told me not to be alarmed, that they were only going to show me a large, handsome house, and would then bring me right back; and that in the morning, if I would go with them now, and be a good girl, I should go home again.

“So I went with them, and tried my best not to cry.  They brought me into a large house, and there were a good many men inside.  The men all looked at me, and I was so frightened!  Then they talked together, and one of them kept pointing toward me.  At last I was taken back to the house, where I stayed all day and all night with the lady.  This morning we got into the cars, and came back to the city.  The lady took me to a large house in Walnut street, where I stayed until after dark, and then she brought me home in a carriage.”

Such was the child’s story; and greatly puzzled were Claire and his wife to comprehend its meaning.  Their joy at her return was intense.  She seemed almost as if restored to them from the dead.  But, for what purpose had she been carried off; and who were the parties engaged in the act?  These were questions of the deepest moment; yet difficult, if not impossible of solution—­at least in the present.  That Jasper’s absence from the city was in some way connected with this business, Claire felt certain, the more he reflected thereon.  But, that Fanny should be returned to him so speedily, if Jasper had been concerned in her temporary abduction, was something that he could not clearly understand.  And it was a long time ere the mystery was entirely unravelled.