Jed, the Poorhouse Boy

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE DETECTIVE

The man in drab smiled to himself as he left the presence of Mrs. Fogson.

"I wonder whether that woman's husband has her amiable traits?" he speculated. "If so, the Scranton poor must be made very uncomfortable."

As he reached the village he met Percy Dixon once more. Percy had an ungovernable curiosity, and he crossed the street to intercept the stranger.

"I suppose you found the poorhouse," he said suggestively.

"Yes; I could not miss it after your clear directions."

"Are you related to Mr. and Mrs. Fogson?" asked Percy, rather boldly.

"Well no," answered the stranger with a smile. "I haven't the honor."

"Have you any relations among the paupers?"

"Not that I am aware of. However, I called to inquire after one of them—a boy."

"Jed Gilman?" said Percy eagerly.

"Yes; I believe that is his name. Are you acquainted with him?"

"I have known him for years."

"I suppose he is a friend of yours?"

"Not much. Do you think I would be friends with a pauper?"

"I don't know. I see no reason why not if he is a nice boy."

"But Jed isn't a nice boy. He's an artful, forward, presuming young jackanapes, and was awfully troublesome."

"I am sorry to hear it. Mrs. Fogson seems to think of him very much as you do."

"I should think she would. She and Fogson couldn't do anything with him."

"Mrs. Fogson says he isn't there now."

"No; he ran away after making a brutal assault on Fogson."

The man in drab felt an inclination to smile, but suppressed it.

"I don't know as I ought to have spoken against him," continued Percy with a cunning look of inquiry. "You may be after him."

The man in drab paused a moment, then assuming a look of mystery, said, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes," answered Percy eagerly.

"Come here, then."

Percy drew near, and the other whispered mysteriously, "I am a detective!"

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Percy, gazing at him with a species of awe, begotten of his idea of detectives as introduced into books which he had read.

The other nodded.

"And I am after Jed Gilman!" he continued.

"Is that so?" said the delighted Percy. "What has he done?"

"That is a secret which I am not permitted to reveal at present."

"Do you want to find him?"

"Very much."

"Then I'll tell you where he is. He's gone to Bar Harbor—in Maine, you know."

The detective nodded.

"He went on a yacht—the Juno—owned by Mr. Schuyler Roper—a rich New York gentleman."

"But how did he get into such company?"

"Oh, Mr. Roper took pity on him and gave him a place."

"Then you think he is comfortably situated?"

"Yes, but he won't be long."

"Why not?"

"Because I have written a letter to Mr. Roper, telling him Jed's real character. I expect he'll be bounced when that letter arrives."

"That would upset all my plans and enable him to escape."

Percy looked perplexed and disappointed.

"I am sorry for that," he said. "I guess I'd better write again and tell him to keep Jed another week."

"Perhaps you had better do so. Say that– But no. I will telegraph to him to keep Jed with him till I arrive."

"That'll do better. You couldn't possibly tell me what Jed has done?"

"Not at present."

"You'll let me know sometime?"

"I think I shall be able to gratify your curiosity before long."

"I'll give you my address, and you can write to me. I wish I knew whether Jed had stolen anything or not."

"I cannot say a word! My lips are sealed!" said the detective in a solemn tone.

Percy was impressed. The man in drab quite came up to his idea of a detective.

"By the way," said his companion, "I want to call on Mr. and Mrs. Avery, who, I understand, know something of the boy's early life."

"They live there—in that small house. I'll go with you."

"No, I prefer to go alone. One can't be too careful."

"All right," said Percy. "I wonder what under the canopy Jed's been doing? It's likely he'll have to go to jail."

CHAPTER XXXV.

MRS. AVERY'S STORY

The detective crossed the street, walked up a tiny footpath and rang the bell of the small house.

Mrs. Avery came to the door, a gentle-faced little woman with white hair. She looked inquiringly at the visitor.

"Mrs. Avery, I believe?" said the man in drab.

"That is my name."

"I would like the favor of a few words with you, madam."

"Come in then," and she led the way to a modest sitting-room.

"My husband," she said, introducing him to a kindly old man, as white-haired as herself.

"My name is Fletcher," said the visitor, "and I have come to you for information. But first, am I right in my belief that you were once in charge of the Scranton poorhouse?"

"Yes, sir. My husband and I had charge of it for fifteen years. We should have been there now, but for Squire Dixon, the new Overseer of the Poor, who wanted the place for some friends of his, Mr. and Mrs. Fogson."

"I have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Fogson," said Fletcher with a smile. "I am sure, now that I have seen you both, that the change was for the worse."

"I fear that the poor people are very shabbily treated," said Mrs. Avery gravely. "It makes me feel very badly, but what can I do? Squire Dixon sustains them, and he has everything to say. But you say you want some information. I shall be glad to tell you what I can."

"I want information touching a boy, now perhaps sixteen years of age, bearing the name of Jed Gilman."

Mr. and Mrs. Avery immediately showed signs of interest.

"He has left the poorhouse," said Mr. Avery.

"So I am told."

"Do you inquire as a friend of the poor boy?" asked Mrs. Avery.

"Emphatically his friend. But first tell me, what kind of a boy is he?"

"A fine, manly, spirited lad, warm-hearted and attractive."

The detective looked pleased, but surprised.

"That doesn't correspond with what Mrs. Fogson told me," he said.

"I suppose not. She and her husband tried to bully Jed and overwork him, till he was compelled to run away. I don't know where he is now."

"But I do. He is at Bar Harbor, in the company of a rich gentleman from New York, and I believe employed on his yacht."

"I am thankful to hear it."

"But what I wish to learn are the circumstances attending his being placed at the poorhouse. I suppose you remember them?"

"Oh yes, as well as if it were yesterday, though it is fourteen years since."

"Go on, madam, I am all interest."

"It was a cold evening in November," began Mrs. Avery reflectively, "and I was about to lock up, though it was but nine o'clock, for we kept early hours at the poorhouse, when there was a knock at the door. I opened it and saw before me a young woman of dark hair and complexion, holding by the hand a pretty boy of about two years of age.

"'Can you give me and my boy a night's lodging?' she asked.

"We often had such applications, and never sent away a decent-looking person. So I said yes readily enough and the two entered. They seemed hungry, and though it was late for us I gave them some bread and milk, of which the child in particular partook heartily. I asked the young woman some questions but she was very close-mouthed.

"'Wait till morning,' she said. 'The boy and I are very tired.'

"I asked no more but gave them a bed, and I suppose they both slept well. I was able to give them a small room to themselves.

"In the morning when I entered I found only the boy. The young woman had gone, but pinned to the child's clothing was this note:

"'I am obliged to leave the boy with you for the present. I hope you will take care of him. His name is Jed Gilman. Some time he will probably be called for. Don't try to find me for it will be useless.'

"That was all. Mr. Avery and myself were dumfounded, but we had taken a fancy to the boy and resolved to keep him. There was some difficulty about it, for he was not legally entitled to be brought up at the town's cost. However, Mr. Avery and I agreed to pay part of the expense for the first year, and after that he was looked upon as one of the regular inmates and cared for as such."

"And the young woman never called again?"

"Never."

"Nor sent you any message, oral or written?"

"Never."

"Was there any article of dress, or any ornament, left with the child that might help to identify it?"

"Yes. Wait here a minute and I will show you something which I have carefully preserved from that day to this."

CHAPTER XXXVI.

"WHO WAS JED?"

Mrs. Avery went up stairs to her own room, but reappeared in five minutes. She had in her hand an old-fashioned gold locket.

"This," she said, "was attached to the neck of the boy when he came into our hands."

"Have you opened it?" asked the detective eagerly. "Is there a picture inside?"

"There are two miniatures—one on each side."

She opened the locket, and it proved to be as she said.

One of these was a miniature of a young and handsome man, apparently thirty years of age, the other of a young lady with a very sweet and attractive face, probably five years younger.

"These must represent the parents of the boy Jed," said the detective.

"So we concluded—Mr. Avery and myself."

"Does the lady bear any resemblance to the girl who brought the child to you?"

"Not the slightest. The girl was common in appearance. She probably filled the position of a servant or nursemaid."

"Did it occur to you that she might be in any way related to the child?"

"Not for a moment. He was evidently the child of parents wealthy or well to do."

"Did you form any conjectures relative to her or her object in bringing you the child?"

"No. There was nothing to serve as a clew. It was all guesswork on our part. Still the thought did occur to us that the child had been stolen or abducted from his people for some reason unknown to us."

The detective hesitated a moment, and then, having apparently made up his mind to confide in the worthy couple, said: "Your guess was very near the truth. The child, I have every reason to believe, was stolen from its mother—the father was dead—through the machinations of an uncle who wanted the boy's title and estate."

"Title!" exclaimed Mrs. Avery, in great surprise.

"Yes. This boy I believe to be the only son of the late Sir Charles Fenwick, of Fenwick Hall, Gloucestershire, England."

"Well, well!" ejaculated Mrs. Avery. "Then if the boy had his rights would he be Sir Jed Gilman?"

"No," answered the detective smiling. "He has no more claim to the name Jed Gilman than I have."

"What is his real name?"

"Robert Fenwick, as I have every reason to believe."

"Why has there been no search for him till now?"

"There has been a search covering all the intervening years; but the mother, who is still living, had no information to guide her, and the search has been a groping in the dark."

"And did the wicked uncle get the title and estate?" asked Mrs. Avery.

"Yes. He is enjoying both now."

"Is it a large estate?"

"It would not be considered large in England. Probably it amounts to five thousand pounds annual rental."

"Five thousand pounds!" said Mrs. Avery.

"Yes, or in our money about twenty-five thousand dollars."

"And this large estate ought to belong to poor Jed?"

"I submit that, if so, he will not need to be called poor Jed."

"And you say that the mother is living?"

"She is living, and in New York. She is comfortably established at the Windsor Hotel on Fifth Avenue. It is by her that I am employed. This is my card."

He drew out a small card bearing the name

"Yes. I am an American," he said in reply to a question by Mrs. Avery. "I am a New York detective, and was detailed for this work by Inspector Byrnes."

"What sort of a person is Jed's mother?" asked Mrs. Avery.

"Still a beautiful woman, though she cannot be far from forty years of age."

"Does she look like the picture in the locket?"

"There is considerable resemblance—of course, making allowance for the difference in the ages of the two. This locket, Mrs. Avery, is most important, and will, I think, establish the identity of Jed Gilman with the stolen heir of the Fenwick estate. Will you permit me to take it and show it to Lady Fenwick?"

"Has she a title, too?"

"Certainly. She was the wife of Sir Charles Fenwick."

"And what is the name of the wicked uncle?"

"Guy Fenwick. He is known as Sir Guy Fenwick, but probably, almost positively, has no rightful claim to the title."

"Does he know that you are looking for his nephew?"

"I presume he has taken measures to keep acquainted with all the movements of Lady Fenwick."

"I wonder how the girl came to give the boy the name of Jed Gilman?"

"I think I can explain this. The name of this treacherous nursemaid was Jane Gilman. She selected a name as near to her own as possible. You say you have neither seen nor heard anything of this girl since Jed was left in your hands?"

"We have heard nothing whatever."

At this moment there was a ring at the door-bell—a sharp, quick, impatient ring.

Mrs. Avery answered it.

She came back, her face showing excitement.

"It is a woman of middle age," she said, "and she, too, has come to make inquiries about Jed Gilman."

The detective also looked excited.

"Do you think," he asked, "it can be Jane Gilman herself come back after all these years?"

"That's it!" said Mrs. Avery, her face lighting up. "I wondered where I had seen her face before. Now, though she is so much older, I recognize in this middle-aged woman the girl who brought Jed to the door fourteen years ago."

"Bring her in here, hear what she has to say, and place me somewhere, so that, myself unseen, I can hear what she says."

This was what the detective said in a quick, decided tone.

"Very well, sir, go in there. It is a small bedroom. You can keep the door ajar."

The detective lost no time in concealing himself.

The woman came in. She was a stout, florid-complexioned woman, rather showily dressed, with the look of an Englishwoman of the middle class.

Before we proceed to record the interview that took place between Mr. and Mrs. Avery and herself we must go back again to the poorhouse, and our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fogson.

Twenty minutes after the departure of James Peake, the detective, this woman knocked at the door of the poorhouse.

Her summons was answered by Mrs. Fogson.

"What's wanted?" asked the poorhouse matron, looking inquisitively at the new arrival.

"Is there a boy named Jed Gilman living here?" asked the woman eagerly.

"Jed Gilman again!" repeated Mrs. Fogson. "What do you want of Jed Gilman?"

"Answer my question first, if you please."

"Such a boy was living here till lately, but he became very troublesome and finally ran away."

"Then he is not here now?" said the woman, looking very much disappointed.

"No, but I expect he'll have to come back some time. A bad penny generally returns. You haven't told me what you have to do with him?"

"Then I will tell you. I was the person who brought him here fourteen years ago."

"You don't say so?" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson, her little bead-like eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Was he your child?"

"Certainly not, but he was my brother's child."

"And what was your object in bringing him here?"

"My brother was dead, and the child was thrown upon me for support," answered the woman after a little hesitation. "I could not support him, and so brought him where I thought he would have a home. But you are not the woman who was in charge of the poorhouse at that time."

"No; that was Mrs. Avery."

"And is Mrs. Avery still living?"

"Yes; she lives in a small house in the village."

"I will go and see her."

But this did not suit the views of Mrs. Fogson, who was curious to hear more about the antecedents of Jed.

"Won't you come in and take a cup of tea?" she asked with unusual hospitality.

"I don't care for tea—it's slops," answered the visitor. "If you could give me a thimbleful of whiskey I wouldn't mind taking it. When I am tired and dragged out it goes to the right spot."

"Yes, I can give you a glass," answered Mrs. Fogson. "Me and Fogson generally keeps a little in case of sickness, though we wouldn't have it known, as this is a temperance town."

"You are safe with me, I won't mention it," said the caller.

She then learned that Jed was probably at Bar Harbor; but Mrs. Fogson found out very little from her in return. After a few minutes the strange woman set out on her walk to the Avery cottage.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

JANE GILMAN

The visitor took a seat in the rocking-chair offered her by Mrs. Avery.

"Do you remember me?" she asked, throwing back her veil so as to give an unobstructed view of her full, florid face.

"Are you the girl who brought the boy Jed to me fourteen years ago?"

"The same. I don't find you in your old place."

"No; we—my husband and I—left the poor farm about a year since. Have you been there?"

"Yes, I saw the new woman, and a spiteful piece she is, I'll be bound."

Mrs. Avery smiled.

"I don't admire Mrs. Fogson," she said, "but I suppose that is natural."

"She tells me the boy is no longer in the poorhouse."

"No."

"Can you tell me why he left?"

"He was ill-treated by Mr. and Mrs. Fogson."

"That woman tells me he was very troublesome."

"We never found him so, and up to a year ago he was under our charge."

"I surmised as much. Then he has grown up a good boy?"

"Excellent. I feel great affection for Jed."

"That is gratifying to my feelings, seeing I am his aunt."

Mrs. Avery regarded her visitor with surprise.

"Do you claim Jed as your nephew?" she asked.

"Certainly. He is the son of my only brother."

But for her interview with the detective Mrs. Avery would have believed this story. As it was, she did not choose to dispute it. She only sought to draw out her visitor so as to understand better her object in calling.

"Are you willing to explain why it was that you were led to place your nephew under my care?"

"Certainly. There is no secret about that now. My brother, who was a blacksmith, failed, and was unable to support the boy."

"What was your brother's name?"

"Jedediah Gilman. That is why I desired to have the boy called Jed Gilman, after his father. My name is Jane Gilman."

"Then you are not married?"

"No," said Miss Gilman. "Not but I might have been married half a dozen times if I had wanted to. But the men are a shiftless lot, in my opinion."

"Not all of them. I never charged my husband with being shiftless."

"Oh, well, there are exceptions. But I liked my freedom, so I am Jane Gilman still. I may change my mind yet, and get married. There's a many after me, and I am only thirty-two."

Mrs. Avery was too polite to question her statement, but privately decided that the other was ten years older.

"Are you an American?" she asked.

"No, I'm English, and I'm proud to own it."

"Was Jed born in England?"

Jane Gilman hesitated, but finally answered in the affirmative.

"In what English town or village was he born?"

"Oh, lor, you wouldn't know any better if I should tell you. My brother came over here with Jed when he was a baby, to better his fortunes. He went out to Iowa, leaving the baby with me. But I found I couldn't get a place with a baby on my hands, and so I took it to the Scranton poorhouse."

"And where have you been since?"

"I went to Philadelphia and got a position there. Since then I've been in a many places."

"I wonder you didn't write to me for some news of the baby."

"I got news of him from time to time, though I don't mean to tell you how," answered Jane Gilman with a cunning smile. "But I've been away for the last three years, and so I didn't know that Jed had gone off."

"You must be disappointed not to find him."

"So I am. It seems so long since I've seen the dear child," and Jane drew out a handkerchief of ample size and pressed it to her tearless eyes. "Is he a nice-looking boy?"

"He has a fine, frank, open face, but you'll excuse my saying that he doesn't resemble you in the least."

"No," answered Jane, not the least bit disconcerted. "He didn't look like the Gilmans, but like his ma's family."

"What was his mother's maiden name?"

"Fenwick," responded Jane Gilman, having no suspicion that Mrs. Avery had heard the name before.

Mrs. Avery started.

"I've heard that name before," she said.

"Have you?" asked Jane, momentarily uneasy, but quickly recovering her self-possession she reflected that the Averys could not possibly know anything of Jed's real history. "I suppose there's a many Fenwicks in the world and some of 'em in America. My brother's wife was a good-looking woman, and the boy takes after her."

"She died young, I suppose?"

"Only three months after he was born."

"Is your brother still living?"

"No; he was killed in a railroad accident out in Iowa six months since. He was a brakeman on the railroad. He left me a tidy sum of money, and said that I was to look up Jed."

"This accounts for your visit, then?"

"Yes; I want to take my nephew with me and see to his education, as my brother wished me to."

"Did Mrs. Fogson give you any idea where he was?"

"She said he had run away, but she had information that he was at Bar Harbor, wherever that is, in the service of some rich gentleman."

"We have heard the same thing. What do you propose to do?"