The Joss: a Reversion
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 5: The Missionary’s Letter.
The question was, what was to become of us? With no friends one cannot live long on fifteen shillings. Even if we got fresh situations in a fortnight it would only be with management that the money could be made to last that time; and, if we did, then we should be more fortunate than I expected to be.
Mr. Paine, however, postponed the solution of the difficulty by suggesting that I should arrange nothing until I had had a talk with him. I was willing; though what he had to do with it was more than I could guess; unless, like they used to do in the fairy tales, he was all of a sudden going to turn out to be my fairy godpapa. One thing I insisted on, that Emily should come with me. So, after I had scribbled a note to Tom—”Dear Tom, Emily and I have got the sack. Meet me after closing time at the usual place. Yours, as ever, Pollie. P.S.—Hope you’re all right”—which Sanders, who was a good sort, promised to see he got—we all three got into a four-wheeled cab, with our boxes on top, and away we rattled.
“Good bye, Slaughter!” I said. “And may we never want to see your face again. And now, Mr. Paine, where are you taking us to?”
“To my offices in Mitre Court. What I have to say to you may take some time, and require a little explanation, and there we shall have the necessary privacy.”
It sounded mysterious, and I began to wonder more and more what he had to say. I daresay I should have put my wonder into words, only just at that moment, who should I see, peeping at us round the corner of the street which we were passing, but the man who paid our bill at Firandolo’s, and who said his name was Isaac Rudd. The sight of him gave me quite a shock.
“There’s Isaac Rudd!” I cried.
“Isaac—who?” asked Emily. She can be dull.
“Why, the man who paid the bill last night.”
Then she understood. Out went her head through the window.
“Where? I don’t see him.”
“No, and he’ll take care you won’t. Unless I’m mistaken, directly he knew I saw him he took himself away; but he’s got his eye upon us all the same.”
I looked at Emily, and she at me. Mr. Paine saw that something was up.
“Who was that you’re speaking of? Someone who has been annoying you?”
“No—nothing. Only there was something a little queer took place last night.”
I sat silent, thinking of Isaac Rudd; as, I daresay, was Emily too. Putting two and two together, it was odd that he should be just there at that particular moment. Especially as, a little farther on, I saw, standing in the shadow of a doorway, a man in a long black overcoat, with his hat crushed over his eyes, who bore the most amazing resemblance to the foreigner who had given me the something in a scrap of paper.
Suddenly I jumped up from my seat. I was so startled that I could not help but give a little scream. They both stared at me.
“What is wrong?” asked Mr. Paine.
“Why, look at that!”
There, sitting, as it were, bolt upright on my knee was the something which had been in the scrap of paper. Mr. Paine eyed it.
“What is it?”
“That’s what I should like to know; also where it’s come from; it wasn’t there a moment back, and that I’ll swear.”
“May I look at it?”
“Certainly; and throw it out of the window too, for all I care.”
Mr. Paine took it up. He turned it over and over.
“It looks like one of the images, representatives of well known deities, which are used as household gods on some of the Pacific coasts. People hang them over their beds, or over the thresholds of their doors, or anywhere. Imitations are sold in some of the London shops. Perhaps Messrs. Cardew & Slaughter keep them in stock.”
“That I am sure they don’t. And, if they do, that’s not out of their stock. That was given to me last night by a foreigner in yellow canvas cloth. It jumped out of the scrap of paper in which it was wrapped——”
“Jumped?”
“If it didn’t jump I don’t know what it did do; I can tell you it took me aback. Miss Ashton threw it on to the floor; yet, when I woke up this morning, it was on my forehead, though how it got there I know no more than the dead.”
“Are you in earnest, Pollie?”
“Dead earnest. It’s my belief I left it in the bedroom, though I might have put it in my pocket, but how it came on to my knee is just what I can’t say.”
Mr. Paine was dividing his attention between me and the thing.
“This is very interesting, Miss Blyth. Especially as I also have had a curious experience or two lately. Can you describe the person who gave it you?”
I described him, to the best of my ability.
“That is—odd.”
His tone seemed to suggest that something in my description had struck him; though what it was he did not explain.
“You’d better throw that thing out of the window,” I said. “I’ve had enough of it.”
“Thank you; but, if you have no use for it, if you do not mind, I should like to retain it in my own possession. It’s a curiosity, and—I’m interested in curiosities.”
He slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. I noticed that once or twice he felt with his fingers, as if to make sure that it still was there.
Mr. Paine was very civil to us when we reached his office—a funny, dark little place it was. He got out some cake, and biscuits, and a decanter of wine, and Emily and I helped ourselves, for I was starving. Sitting at a table in front of us, he took some papers out of a drawer, and began to look at them. Now that I could notice him more I could see that he was tall and well set up; quite the gentleman; with one of those clear-cut faces, and keen grey eyes, with not a hair upon it—I mean upon his face, of course, because I particularly observed that his teeth and eyelashes were perfect.
“Before I go into the subject on which I have ventured to bring you here, I am afraid I shall have to ask you one or two questions, Miss Blyth.”
His manner was just what it ought to have been, respectful, and yet not too distant.
“Any answers I can give you, Mr. Paine, you are welcome to.”
“What was your mother’s maiden name?”
“Mary Ann Batters. She died six years ago next month, when I was fourteen. My father’s name was Augustus. He was a most superior person, although unfortunate in business; and though he died five years before my mother, I’ve heard her say, almost to her last hour, that she had married above her—which I believe she did.”
“Had your mother any relations?”
“None.”
“Think again.”
“Well, in a manner of speaking, there was one; but about him least said soonest mended; although he was her brother—that is, until she cast him off.”
“What was his name?”
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