A Girl of the People by L. T. Meade (ebook reader with built in dictionary txt) 📗

There's hope yet in the world."

"I ha' found Dent," continued Granger, rubbing his rough sleeves across his mouth in a furtive manner. "I told him about Will, and he's willing to go to the police-court to-morrow—that is, ef you're agreeable."

"I agreeable, father?" Bet laughed excitedly. "You know my mind on that; and so does Dent. Why, I could almost find it in my heart to call him a good feller, ef he saves my lad."

"Ay, Bet—that's just it." Granger shuffled again, and would not meet his daughter's eye. "He wants you to call him a good feller; he wants you to be werry particular kind to him, seeing as he won't stir hand nor foot to save Will Scarlett until you takes yer oath as you'd wed with him. Ay, that's it, Bet—you ha' got to face it; by no other means can you set that lad of yourn free. You ha' got to face it, and Dent must have his answer to-night."

Bet did not speak at all for about a minute.

"I feared as this might come," she said at last In a queer voice. "I did hope as God Almighty might have spared me. But it weren't to be. It's miles worse nor giving up my life."

She had been kneeling by her father; now she started to her feet, and wrapped the plaid shawl about her head and shoulders.

"I'm going to Hester," she said. "I'll give you your answer when I comes back."

CHAPTER XXI.

Bet walked quickly through the streets. She pushed back her hair under her plaid shawl: her eyes looked bright, and her step was once more firm and erect.

"There are all kinds of love," she kept muttering to herself—"all kinds-there's the love that gives, and the love that gets. Seems to me that mine must be the love that gives."

A queer little smile came over her face as this thought entered her brain. She walked still more quickly, and clenched her strong hand, while resolution and the noble determination of self-sacrifice gave her a false strength. Bet was not ignorant of certain verses of the Bible. She had never read the Bible, for her mother's form of religion had rendered the idea of looking into its pages distasteful to her; but words from it had been quoted many times in her poor home, and one of its verses now floated into her memory: "Greater love hath no man than this—that a man lay down his life for his friend." The words brought with them a healing sense of comfort. She really did not know from where they were taken, but she found herself repeating them, and she knew that if she really agreed to marry Dent, she would give up far more than her life for Will. No questionings as to the right or the wrong of this action came to perplex her—she never for an instant supposed it possible that Will could prefer prison with the thought of her waiting for him at the end, to liberty with her lost to him forever. No, no; sailors, of all men, must be free—free as the wind or the air. Will must once more go where he pleased, and taste the briny ocean in salt spray on his lips. Confinement would kill a roving spirit like his. He would be sorry to have lost her—Bet; but by-and-bye he would find another lass to comfort him.

Just at present Bet had a sense of exaltation that caused her scarcely to feel any pain. The worst had now come and was over—her heart beat calmly; she had nothing further to dread; and she ran quickly up the stairs to Hester's room, and looked in with almost a bright face.

"I ha' come," she said, drawing her breath fast,—"Dent is found, Hetty, and Will will be free to-morrow night."

"Oh, how glad I am!" said Hester. She had been making up her fire and tidying the room before going to rest. She went straight up to Bet, now, and put one arm round her neck, and raised herself a little to kiss the taller girl.

"You'll be happy, yet, Bet," she said; "and God knows I'm glad of it." Bet did not respond to Hester's kiss. She held herself very erect, and looked down calmly into the singer's eager, enthusiastic face.

"It's a good thing Dent is found," she repeated. "I came to you Hetty, to ask you ef you'd help me to write a letter to Will. You're more of a scholard than I am, and I thought maybe atween us I might make my mind known to the lad."

"For sure, Bet, I'll help you to write," said Hester. "But ef Dent is found, and witnesses for Will, you'll see him in a few hours, honey; and it don't seem worth while to put into writing what can be told with the lips."

"I'll see Will to-morrow," repeated Bet, "for I'll be in the police-court; but, all the same, it's my mind to put a few words in writing, so that the lad may know clear what my meaning is. You'll help me, won't you, Hetty, seeing as you're more of a scholard than me?"

"To be sure I will," said Hester. And going to a drawer, she took out a penny bottle of ink, an old pen, and a sheet or two of very thin, poor writing paper.

"Shall I write or will you?" she said, looking up at the girl, who stood still and upright in the middle of the room.

"Set down, Bet, dear, and take the pen in your own fingers—ef the letter's for Will, he'd like to have the writing yours. Set down, and I'll help you to spell out the words."

"No," said Bet; "I ain't a scholard, and my hand shakes. I'll say what's in my heart, and you'll write it for me, Hetty, dear."

She moved over now to the fireplace, and leaned one elbow on the tiny mantel-shelf; her face was quiet, but Hester could not help remarking the absence of hope in her eyes.

"Are you sure that Dent will appear in the witness box?" she asked. "Seems to me as if he'd scarce dare to; for he'll have to say how he come by the notes. You know, Bet, and so do I, that he's the real thief; and ef he appears to clear Will, seems to me he must confess his own share. Are you sure as he'll do it, Bet?"

"He told father so," replied Bet. "He's deep, and he'll find a way. He said as he'd do it for a price—it were a heavy one—he wouldn't do it for nought else; he named his price, and he promised that for that he'd clear Will."

"I don't see how he's to do it," repeated Hester, looking more and more dissatisfied. "Dent ain't the man to pop himself into the jail. And a price? You and Granger han't got any money. It's deceived you are, I fear me, Bet."

"No," said Bet—"the price is me—there ain't no deceit, and his meaning's quite plain. When Dent saves Will, he's to have me. I'm to wed him—them's the terms—there ain't no use argufying, Hester; but it's all plain—Dent will clear Will, and keep out of prison hisself, for he's as clever as he's bad. And I'm to be his wife. Now you write the letter."

"That I won't," said Hester, flinging down her pen. "Ef you think I'm going to break Will's heart, and yourn, too, you're fine and mistook. Dent is playing the fool on you, Bet Granger; and you're no true lass to give up Will on any terms."

Hester spoke with great vehemence and passion. She was horrified at what she considered sacrilege. She could not understand Bet. Rising from her seat, she pushed her writing materials away, and stooped over the hearth.

"There," she said, as she poked the little fire—"I'm glad as you has spoke out your mind. You hate Dent, and you'll marry him; and you'll give Will his liberty, but you'll break his heart. No, no—I won't write that letter."

"I'll do the best that I can myself," replied Bet. She was not the least angry or excited. She sat down by Hester's table, and taking up the pen dipped it in the ink, and with difficulty began to put her words on paper. Her head was bent low, and her hand labored; but she did not pause, nor glance again at Hester. Minutes passed into half-hours: one—two—three of these went by before Bet, with a burning flush on one cheek, and the other deadly white, finished her letter.

"There," she said. "You don't understand me, Hetty, but I ha' made it all clear to Will. Here's the letter. Seal it up for nought but him to see. When he's free to-morrow, give it to him, Hetty, and don't think harder than you can help of poor Bet Granger."

She laid the letter on the mantel-piece by Hester's side, wrapped her shawl again about her head, and went out.

CHAPTER XXII.

"You ha' got the promise of the girl?" said Dent.

"Yes, yes—that's sure and certain."

"All right; then I'll go to the police-court. Now look you here, Granger—you don't s'pose as I'm really going to give that chap his liberty?"

"You won't wed Bet else," replied Granger.

"So you say. Well, set down, man. We has half-an-hour afore us, and I've got to think one or two things out. Are you quite aware, or must I make it plainer to yer, the only way in which I could let Will out?"

"It don't seem over clear, for sartin," replied Granger. "But you're a clever chap, Dent, and I trusts yer. You'll let the lad out, and you'll wed my gel, and you'll give me my share of the siller. Come, now—that's plain enough, ain't it?"

"This is plain," said Dent, knocking the ashes out of his pipe-the two men were loafing together near one of the quays—"this is plain, and this only—that when Will comes out of prison I goes in. I can't prove Will Scarlett innocent without proving myself t'other thing. Is it likely now—you tell me as it's likely—ef I'll lend myself to that sort of plan?"

"Only you said it," replied Granger. "And for sartin my gel won't wed you else."

"And," continued Dent, "when I'm locked up, it won't look too nice for you. There are a few things as 'ull come out about that money as I stole. Ef I'm took up, Liverpool 'ull be a sight too hot for you, Granger. You take my word on that point."

Granger's bloated and red face turned pale. He did not speak at all for a moment. Then he said, slowly: "You has a plan in your head, Isaac Dent; and the sooner you outs with it the better it'll be for you and for me."

"Yes," said Dent, smiling. "You're about right there, mate. I has a plan, and this is it—I mean to go to the police-court to-day—I means to witness there; but not for Will Scarlett, but agin' him. He'll swear as I give him the notes; I'll swear tother way. His case looks black now—I'll make it of a double-dyed darkness. I'll do for him. That'll be none so difficult."

"But what about Bet?" said Granger. "I don't care about Scarlett. It's nought to me how long he stays in prison. But how'll you get Bet to wed you, ef you treats the lad so, is more nor I can make out."

"We'll blind her," said Dent. "Throw dust in her eyes—eh? That's where you can help me, Granger—and five pound, not in notes, but gold, for the job."

Granger looked dubious.

"Bet's going to the police-court," he said.

"She mustn't go—no, not on no account. Look here, Granger, you wern't, so to say, special tender and fatherly to them boys o' yourn, were you?"

"What now?" said Granger.

"Well, just this," replied Dent. "I want you to take them boys, and manage so as Bet shall have a hint of it, and pretend as you're going to do bad by them. Take them out of her sight. She'll follow—she'll spend all the time, while Will's little business is being settled, looking for the boys. It can be done, and we'll lure her out of Liverpool, and we'll pretend as Will is free, until such time as I can wed her. Then I don't care what she knows. Come into the 'Star and Garter,' mate—we'll have a drink, and soon fix up this yer business."

CHAPTER XXIII.

It sometimes happens that a very valiant and resolute spirit is contained in a small body. Bet Granger's little brothers, known in the slums as the captain and the general, were as thin, as lanky, as under-grown little chaps as could be found in Liverpool. Not a scrap of superfluous flesh had they, and certainly not