Part 27 (1/2)
”Now, Molly,” said Bones, with a smile, ”I want you to write a letter for me, so get another sheet of paper, if you can; Mr Aspel used up my last one.”
A sheet was procured from a neighbouring tobacconist. Mrs Bones always acted as her husband's amanuensis (although he wrote very much better than she did), either because he was lazy, or because he entertained some fear of his handwriting being recognised by his enemies the police!
Squaring her elbows, and with her head very much on one side--almost reposing on the left arm--Mrs Bones produced a series of hieroglyphics which might have been made by a fly half-drowned in ink attempting to recover itself on the paper. The letter ran as follows:--
”Deer bil i am a-goin to doo it on mundy the 15th tother cove wont wurk besides Iv chaningd my mind about him. Don't fale.”
”What's the address, Abel?” asked Mrs Bones.
”Willum Stiggs,” replied her husband.
”So--i--g--s,” said Mrs Bones, writing very slowly, ”Rosebud Cottage.”
”What!” exclaimed the man fiercely, as he started up.
”Oh, I declare!” said Mrs Bones, with a laugh, ”if that place that Tottie's been tellin' us of ain't runnin' in my 'ead. But I've not writ it, Abel, I only said it.”
”Well, then, don't say it again,” growled Bones, with a suspicious glance at his wife; ”write number 6 Little Alley, Birmingham.”
”So--numr sx littlaly bringinghum,” said Mrs Bones, completing her task with a sigh.
When Bones went out to post this curious epistle, his wife took Tottie on her knee, and, embracing her, rocked to and fro, uttering a moaning sound. The child expressed anxiety, and tried to comfort her.
”Come what's the use o' strivin' against it?” she exclaimed suddenly.
”She's sure to come to know it in the end, and I need advice from some one--if it was even from a child.”
Tottie listened with suspense and some anxiety.
”You've often told me, mother, that the best advice comes from G.o.d. So has Miss Lillycrop.”
Mrs Bones clasped the child still closer, and uttered a short, fervent cry for help.
”Tottie,” she said, ”listen--you're old enough to understand, I think.
Your father is a bad man--at least, I won't say he's altogether bad, but--but, he's not good.”
Tottie quite understood that, but said that she was fond of him notwithstanding.
”Fond of 'im, child!” cried Mrs Bones, ”that's the difficulty. I'm so fond of 'im that I want to save him, but I don't know how.”
Hereupon the poor woman explained her difficulties. She had heard her husband murmuring in his sleep something about committing a burglary, and the words Rosebud Cottage had more than once escaped his lips.
”Now, Tottie dear,” said Mrs Bones firmly, ”when I heard you tell all about that Rosebud Cottage, an' the treasure Miss Stiffinthegills--”
”Stivergill, mother.”
”Well, Stivergill. It ain't a pretty name, whichever way you put it.
When I heard of the treasure she's so foolish as to keep on her sideboard, I felt sure that your father had made up his mind to rob Miss Stivergill--with the help of that bad man Bill Stiggs--all the more w'en I see how your father jumped w'en I mentioned Rosebud Cottage. Now, Tottie, we _must_ save your father. If he had only got me to post his letter, I could easily have damaged the address so as no one could read it. As it is, I've writ it so bad that I don't believe there's a man in the Post-Office could make it out. This is the first time, Tottie, that your father has made up his mind to break into a 'ouse, but when he do make up his mind to a thing he's sure to go through with it. He must be stopped, Tottie, somehow--_must_ be stopped--but I don't see how.”
Tottie, who was greatly impressed with the anxious determination of her mother, and therefore with the heinous nature of her father's intended sin, gave her entire mind to this subject, and, after talking it over, and looking at it in all lights, came to the conclusion that she could not see her way out of the difficulty at all.