Absolutely True. Written and illustrated by Irving Montagu

Preface

. With a view to placing myself in accord with my critics, I venture to hope, " fact " being " stranger than fiction," that this story, absolutely true with regard to the incidents recorded, the peculiarities of the characters introduced, and the localities referred to, may not — being within the limits of possibility — appear wanting in that realistic interest which attaches to truth. In weaving these events into narrative form, I have been so materially aided by my wife that I should be unjust were I not to dedicate this book to her and pay this small tribute to her in recognition of the invaluable assistance she has afforded me. Thus, again inviting the criticism of my old friends the Press, who have to some extent induced the pro duction of this volume, and of the public, I await their verdict.

IRVING MONTAGU. Brook Green Studios. October $lh, 1892. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. — "The Blue Monkey" i II. — The Bloomfields at Home 13 III. — Meditations in Mayfair 26 IV.— A Clue to the Mystery 34 V. — "Where are you going to, my Pretty Maid?" 41 VI. — "Stolen Fruits are Sweetest" 52 VII. — "Fleet Street" 62 VIII. — "We were Boys together" 70 IX. — Mr. Pym on the Warpath 77 X. — "Love hath no Season" S9 XL— Clubland 99 XII. — "Though Lost to Sight to Memory Dear" ... 104 XIII. — "Complications" "4 XIV. — Clinging to Straws 128 XV.— In the Highlands of Anatolia 138 XVI.— "A Severed Link and a Broken Heart" ... 144 XVII. "Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady" 151 XVIII. — "At Home and Abroad" 164 XIX.— " Back from the Jaws of Death " CONTENTS VIII chap. 'JAliE XX. — " Scandalmongers " '79 XXI. — "Between two Stools" 1S8 XXII.— "All the World's a Stage" 195 XXIII. — "Necessity is the Mother of Invention" ... 205 XXIV. — "It's a Sad Heart which never Rejoiceth " ... 218 XXV.— "The Merton Mystery" 228 XXVI. — "Pym Pats Himself on the Back" 244 XXVII. — "The Vagaries of Love" 252 XXVIII. — "REQUIESCAT IN PACE " 262 XXIX. — The Verdict must be Guilty 270 XXX. — "Night Birds" 283 XXXI. — The Knave of Diamonds 296 XXXII.— "The Iron Grip of the Law" 308 XXXIII. — "Love must be tried by Fire" 314 XXXIV. — Complications on the Continent 331 XXXV. — "Everything comes to those who Wait" ... 340 XXXVI. — "All's Well that Ends Well" ... ... ... Absolutely"

Chapter I

" THE BLUE MONKEY." Little Connie — .*\n Unexpected Visitor — A Fateful Toddle — Water Leaves no Track— Lost— The Stolen Treasure— A Death Scene — A Lone Little One. "Me dot pretty picture, Denny; dat's my mummy's, dat is." And four-year-old little Connie held up a gold locket for the inspection of old Dennis the ostler, who, for thirty years come Lady day, had been man and boy, in the family service. "Where did you get that from, my dear?" ' Mummy put im wound my neck des' now, and said it would make 'ittle Connie pretty boy.' " Mind you take care of it ; your ma didn't say you was to come out to the stables with.it on, did she?' "Mummy didn't tell me not to; mummy doesn't know— me turn to see Freddy feed ' Ruby.' " B " Freddy's gone to Kingston Fair to-day, Master Connie, but you shall feed ' Ruby ' for all that if you like ; Denny will give you some oats.

Oh, dear ! Why, there are none ! Never mind, Denny will get you some ; wait here for a minute like a good boy, and I'll go up to the house for the key of the loft." Now the door of the stable opened out into a sort of bye lane, the high damp walls of which were overgrown with moss, capped with tall feathery weeds and crimson snap-dragon, long since gone to seed, for Autumn had set her russet seal upon the year. It was a communicating link with the river at one end, and the High Street at the other, running at right angles with the house and the whole length of the grounds. That the foregoing discussion between Connie and Denny had been overheard was evident, since one, who was in the habit of practising the gentle art of doing nothing in particular, had been enjoying his matutinal pipe in the shady lane afore said, sufficiently near that stable-door, which was wide open, to catch the conversation between them, for, the moment Dennis left, a cadaverous looking wretch, all rags and tatters, peered round the corner and looked in upon the little one, who was at that moment trying his hardest to scale the manger.

" Connie, do you like to see purple monkeys climbing up yaller sticks ? " The child looked round in amazement, for there, not only were a number of those zoological curiosities lying prone in a basket which the man carried, but one was being actively manipulated by the vagrant, who with an apish grin con tinued — " Funny, my dear, isn't it ? " " Do 'oo know me ? " said Master Connie, inquiringly. "Why, yes, my dear, of course I do; your name's Connie, isn't it ? " " Es ! Do 'oo know Denny and Freddy ? " " Oh, yes, my dear, to be sure ; don't you remember me ? " And Connie, with an infantile strut, confronted him, looking up inquisitively as if he wasn't at all certain that he did remember his too familiar friend. " Will 'oo give me pupple mookey ? " " Yes, my dear, to be sure I will ; there's a beauty !

" and the heir to those river-side estates felt that in such a possession he was, indeed, far richer than he could have supposed it possible for any child to be " 'Oo isn't poor with such lots of mookeys, I wish 'oo was." " I am, my dear, very poor, but why do you wish it?" " 'Cos my mummy says I must lub poor people, and I lub 'oo for giving me pupple mookey." " I say, Connie, wouldn't you like to give Denny one ? I've got such a beauty down there by the river — a red one on a green stick ; you come with me and I'll give it to yer for Denny or Freddy." " Oh, 'es, pease; dear old Denny !" said his little master, as he fearlessly took the grimy hand of the swarthy tramp and toddled away by his side to secure the exceptional gift, discounting beforehand Denny's delight on receiving it. It was a fateful toddle that, in quest of the red monkey, the B enveiglement of the little one taking infinitely less time to achieve than describe.

At the bottom of the lane, completely hidden from view by sedges and other water-weeds, a ramshackle boat lay moored, seated in which was a slatternly, hawk-eyed woman about forty, who gruffly greeted her advancing husband with — " You've been long enough gone to nobble a dozen of 'em ; I was pretty nigh asleep." " There, hold yer gab ! Wimmen's never got no feelin' for their 'usbands if they're ever so 'ard workin'." "Oo don't show me the wed mookey," chimed in Connie, getting alarmed, he knew not why. " Pease, pease, take me back ; take me back to my mummy and my Denny." " 'Ere, little 'un," said the man, lifting the now struggling child into the boat; "get in there, and ask 'er to show yer the red monkey — she got lots of 'em, she has." The next moment the woman had roughly seized the child, and, pinning a tattered black shawl over his dainty clothes, stopped his screams by putting her coarse, begrimed hand over his mouth, while at the same time her husband, getting into the boat, shoved off, and pulled rapidly away in the direction of Molesey Lock.

It must have been quite two hours later that the trio glided gently up a back-water, where they were soon lost to sight amongst the overhanging willows. " Now's our time, Bill," said the woman, " let's fake 'im up, there ain't no one about," and with this she hastily unpinned the tattered shawl and commenced undressing poor little Connie, who, in the meantime, much to their satisfaction, had fretted himself to sleep on some rags at the bottom of the boat, but who now on being aroused continued in the same pitiful strain — " Take me back to my mummy ; pease take me back to my mummy and my Denny." " 'E may 'owl 'is 'ed off 'ere," said the tramp. "Shy over that there bundle," replied the woman, "the kicksies is in it ; " whereupon the man threw her a curious collection of ragged garments done up in a spotted cotton handkerchief, in which she proceeded to array the poor little mite, carefully folding up, as she did so, the dainty clothes she had taken off.

" These 'ere are the 'ony evidence agin us," the woman went on, " and I can pop 'em when we gets on a bit. It's the old story, yer know, Bill. I'm the mother o' the scullery-maid who's in a 'ouse where a lady's-maid's kep', and where the misses gives 'er children's left off clothes to the servants — Lord amussy ! Why what's this ? " the tramp's wife continued with fiendish delight as she unclasped a miniature from the child's neck, which was attached to a long piece of ribbon. " 'Oo's that a fottergraf of, I wonder ? " " That ain't no fottergraf," said Bill, " that's done by 'and, that is." Whereupon, much to his better half's disgust, he stretched out his hand and took possession of it, remarking as he did so : " Lookee 'ere, fair's fair, old 'un. You get what yer can on the kid's kicksies, and I'll stick to this."

This argument, which was carried on in rather loud tones, again aroused the little one, who, catching sight of his sparkling toy, heroically struggled to repossess himself of it. " 'Oo mustn't have dat — dat's my mummy's, dat is. Take me back — take me back to my mummy — my mummy and my " " Mummy, be blowed ! Shut up, will yer ? " And the poor little fellow by this time was seized with a paroxysm of tears, which, however, had no effect on the stony hearts of his abductors. " I say, she ain't bad lookin' with 'er yaller 'air and blue eyes. Lord ! why she don't look no more than two or three and twenty." "Lookee 'ere," broke in his companion, "if yer ain't agoin' to give me back that there fottergraf, shove it in yer pocket, don't go a spoonin' over it, or if / gits 'old of it I'll pitch it in the river, so I tell yer."

" Back she's a better sort nor you, missus. Any'ow, I shouldn't 'a nabbed the kid if it 'adn't 'er been for your eternal naggin'." " Chuck, chuck, chuck ! " she broke in like a ruffled hen, " Shut up, will yer ? " " I say, 'e ain't a bad bargin', Moll, any way," said the ragged wretch, relighting his short black pipe and looking with the air of a connoisseur down upon poor little Connie, whose tiny up-turned, tear-stained face looked pathetically sad, surrounded now by the dirty rags of abject poverty. "Yer see we wanted a kid any'ow. It makes a pot o' difference on the rounds if you've got a kid or two a-clinging to yer ; then them there clothes 'ull fetch summat, and this 'ere locket 'ull fetch summat more ; besides, if we can work it, we might return 'im when a reward's out, and so make a good thing of it, Moll, eh ?

We could easy say as we'd picked 'im up a wandering about at Kingston or on the 'igh road some where, and couldn't find out where 'e belonged to — yes, there's money in 'im any'ow." "Well ! " said the woman, with an air of philosophy, " it's all in a lifetime, and we shall see ; but what are yer a goin' to do with this 'ere boat as you've sneaked ? They know each other's boats on the river, so you can't sell 'un." " Why, leave it 'ere, of course, and walk across the fields to the main road," and so, accompanying the action to the word, they got out, carrying their several bundles and dragging that disconsolate child after them. Now, although the clothes were soon disposed of, when the reward for the arrest of " Any person or persons " connected with the abduction, was published broadcast on every gate and barn-door in the surrounding country, it so startled them, that they felt quite unequal to the concoction of any likely tale by "DRAGGING THAT DISCONSOLATE CHILD AFTER THEM." means of which to avert suspicion, return the child, and obtain the money ; and, moreover, they were afraid that disposing of the miniature might lead to their being taken; thus it was, thinking discretion the better part of valour, they made for the open country, beating a hasty retreat from the locality where the hue and cry was abroad.

" It ain't no good, missus, trying to go on quiet and comfortable ; do what one will, one gets 'unted down, so we'd better stick to the brat now, and git an 'onest livin' by cadging." And this, in short, they did. For two long years their nights were passed sometimes in workhouses, yet oftener in the open, till by slow degrees the child had accepted, as it were, " Kismet." There is a pliability about infancy which in later life is unknown to us, besides which, in this case, there was a lurking, half-hidden kindliness about that grimy tramp which somehow appealed to the child's susceptibilities. More than once he awoke as they stumbled across country to find himself in the man's brawny arms, where, through sheer fatigue, sleep had overtaken him. Now, it was one bitterly cold night in January, when the frosted trees suggested crystallised sugar to that little one, and the snow like a pall extended as far as the eye could reach, that an unexpected halt was come to by that trio in a dreary country lane.

The woman, who had been lagging behind for some distance, had uttered a sharp cry, and when the man turned she had fallen in a sort of fit by the wayside. That was a terrible night for little Connie, who for hours assisted the man, as best he could, to restore, by rubbing her hands and other simple means, that animation which was now at so low an ebb. They had covered her with all the wraps they had, while the snow had so drifted into the dry ditch in which she lay that she was half hidden by it. At first she strove in vain to speak, but her lips refused their orifice, a burning fever possessed her; then she shivered violently and looked round in a sort of hopeless agony on the white shroud in which she was enveloped. For a moment her voice came back to her, and she called her husband to come nearer— nearer still.

" I'm 'ard 'it this time, Bill," she said. The man in his rough way tried to allay her fears. "Come, come, lass, it ain't so bad as all that any'ow." " Bill, come closer ; is there any 'ope of 'eaven for such as you an' me ? " " 'Ow do /know, old ooman ? They used to tell us at Sun day-school as there was room for all." " Eh, but it must be a big place, Bill— no wuckuses, no skilly, no rags, no 'unger." "No nuthink, only 'appiness, Moll," and a tear trickled down the tramp's cheek as he pictured that "great beyond," where workhouses and skilly would cease to be. Then he took her hand in his and pressed it, and thought of the almost for gotten long-ago when they "kep' company," and when she, so haggard and worn now, was a happy, bright eyed factory girl out Plais tow way. " Poor lass, she's a sleepin' now quite peace ful, I'll let 'er bide," and he gently — yes, very, very gently — withdrew the arm which had encircled her, and lit his pipe — and waited.

And so the many dark and dreary hours of night having passed, when the cold grey light of day dawning, she awoke and seemed a trifle easier ; the man too was relieved by her improved condition. She looked round her with a sort of vague wonder, then a smile stole over her wan face as she muttered, "No wuckuses, no rags, no 'unger, no nothink," and the next moment she was asleep again. And so for the matter of that, was he, while by their side, half hidden in the woman's scanty skirts, huddled up for warmth between the two, lay little Connie, restlessly turning first one way then the other, as he dreamt in a vague, mixed, indefinite sort of way of — a grand house, a beautiful lady, a fluffy pony, a grinning, grimy demon, and a presiding evil genius in the shape of a purple monkey on a yellow stick — all of which bleared memories took only very confused form indeed in the child's cramped brain.

Presently, he was suddenly roughly SHE WAS DEAD pushed aside by the man — who, waking and stooping low, listened breathlessly, and stared intently into the woman's face. During that short sleep those first faint streaks of early dawn had been striving to dispel the shades of night, and there had fallen on that sad, worn face, a mysterious calm, while a strange, inexpressible silence seemed to fill the air. He took the woman's hand in his, then started as if electrified ; it was stone cold — her features were rigid — she was dead I He trembled violently as he covered those hard, clear-cut features with the ragged shawl which was wrapped round her. Only the day before, in a drunken brawl, had he struck her, and now, as he stood there, he gave a sigh of relief in his thankfulness that they had made it up again.

The bruise, of which he had been the cause, was still on her forehead, more damning and evident now than in life. Her face was otherwise ghastly white. Suddenly a horrible idea presented itself to him. " What proof was there that that blow had not caused her death ? Perhaps indirectly it had, who could tell ? If nabbed and brought before the beak, they might bring it in murder I Why not ? and then " The man looked round bewildered, as if each tree in the long lane were looking down in grim judgment on a cruel deed. The rustling of the wind through their branches scared him. Even that distant finger-post seemed to be pointing at him. Then, another moment, and he was himself again, for turning hurriedly to the child, who was not even yet half awake, he said, shaking him and pointing to his wife — " See, mother's ill — very ill.

Don't wake 'er, little 'un ; you stay 'ere, there's a dear, and take care of 'er. People will come presently and carry 'er away ; tell 'em I was kind to 'er — yes, kind to 'er, and that I've gone for 'elp. Gone that way. Look ! do yer understand — do yer 'ear me, little 'un ? — that way, yer see ? " pointing down the lane, and immediately preparing to depart in the opposite direction. At that moment — he knew not why — he remembered the locket, and turning to the child, he said : " Here, young 'un, take this, it's yourn — it's a picter of yer mother, stick to it." Then with a sigh of relief he muttered to himself — " There, it's the 'onestest thing as I ever did in my life — sw'help me ! " For one short moment he gazed into the waif's appealing face — the next, he was gone. The frightened child would have clung to him rather than remain, though he didn't realise what death was - save that it was uncanny, but a glance from the tramp petrified him, and the next moment Connie was alone — alone with the dead woman.

Three hours passed — three long hours in which the child alternately wandered up and down, or sat crying with cold and praying for the vagrant's return. But in vain, for by that time he was far enough away, and it was not till quite late in the morning that the sense of stillness was broken by the ap proaching footsteps of a farm labourer going to the neighbour ing village — footsteps which were like music in Connie's ears. He was a grey-bearded, kindly-looking old fellow, and when he saw the terrible condition of affairs, he at once took com passion on the little fellow, and, patting him on the head, placed his tiny limp hand in his, saying, " Come along, little man, I'll look after you." And so, with many gentle reassurances, he took him to the village police-station, telling them at the same time the story of his grim discovery.

The result being, that the body of the woman was removed to the mortuary to await post-mortem examination, and, if possible, identification, while little Connie was sent to the great red-brick county union hard by.

Chapter II. The Bloomfields At Home

Two - and - Elevenpence - halfpenny — Shabby Gentility — Sledger Street, Chelsea — Colonel Gadsden Smokes a Calumet — The Nottingham Mystery. "Can't make it more than three shillings, can't be done, can't really, miss, it's so wore at the seams. Got a 'a'penny for the ticket ? Oh ! very well, two shillings and elevenpence 'a'penny then, thank yer. And now, missus, what's for you ? " said the pawnbroker's assistant as he scrutinised a flat-iron with the air of an expert, which his next customer placed on the counter. She to whom the remark with reference to the seamy garment applied, had in the meantime hurriedly left the establishment, the richer by two shillings and elevenpence-halfpenny, and found herself, with a sigh of relief, in the broad open thoroughfare. Not that she felt abashed at the errand on which she had been sent, custom having almost obliterated the memory of that first occasion, long since, when she felt the eyes of the inhabitants were, for many miles round, focussed upon her maiden pledge at the shrine of the three golden balls.

No, she was proof against all that sort of thing now, though the utter hollowness of her life presented itself in an infinitely more banshee-like form than it had ever done before. She was just eighteen, was Leah Bloomfield, full of all those winsome charms which, at such an age, are exceptionally attractive, especially when, as in her case, they are attended by an utter unconsciousness of their existence. On she hurried, past Cheyne Walk, with its gaunt, red-brick Queen Annish houses, fenced in by curiously-wrought railings and gates of, in some cases, exquisite design; till further on she passed the old " Mag pie and Stump," where Charles II. is said to have landed several times from the royal barge with captivating Nellie Gwynne, when on their way up river. On she went till shabby coal wharves, low public-houses, and small sweetstuff" shops reminded her that she was getting into a more accustomed, if not more congenial, element, the comfortable surroundings of her child hood having been nearly forgotten in the genteel poverty of her girlhood.

The Bloomfields, unlike their immediate neighbours, trans acted such small commercial matters as the one to which I have referred at the commencement of this chapter, at some con siderable distance from home, and were not disposed, as those neighbours in many cases were, to make reference to them "over the garden wall" in a high key as on dits of everyday life. In deed, Sledger Street, into which Leah had now turned, was about the last place in the world in which one would expect to find the family to whom I shall have the pleasure of introducing you. When the wind blows south-west there is an odour rather of fried fish than sanctity about that greasy, narrow thoroughfare, which issues from the establishment of an energetic widow round the corner, and with the effluvia from which the half-dead geraniums in the parlour windows of Sledger Street are highly redolent, while the heraldry of the place may be summed up in several small emblazoned devices, on one of which, under a profusion of bars dexter and sinister, the motto (on a field of azure) "Mangling done here " appears, which is supplemented by several others which have reference respectively to " Ladies' own materials being made up," to the fact that Mrs. Mullens is a midwife, and that No. 15 is the abode of no less a personage than the turncock, whose missus (I quote from the language of the locality) knows more about " the mysteries " at No. 28 than anyone else in the street, more — infinitely more, than they have the remotest suspicion of themselves.

" Look at 'er," says the policeman's wife at No. 5, as Leah, having turned that corner, hurried homeward. " She ought to be took up, that she ought, with 'er grand lady ways down 'ere amongst honest, 'ard-workin' folk." The door of No. 28 had, however, opened and closed on this most inscrutable member of that " mysterious " family before No. 5 had finished her criticisms. Let us follow Leah Bloomfield into the front parlour. There is only one word for the aspect of affairs and that is — muddle. Muddle, not so much begotten of a fondness for it for its own sake, as by the circumstances of a large family, and great and continued impecuniosity having for many years made order appear so utterly unattainable to poor Mrs. Bloomfield, that she had long since let matters glide. At the present moment the children are at tea, their mother having surrendered herself meekly to the Herculean labour of cutting slice after slice of bread, on which, for economy, golden syrup is deftly spread, only to reappear pre sently, as a halo of sunny glory, round the rosy lips of her off spring.

Yet the tablecloth is of fair white linen, and the table itself, albeit much scratched and battered, is of rare old Chip pendale, which, in some previous state of existence, has known a happier habitat. Over the chimney-piece, too, is a curiously-bevelled, old world looking-glass, the convexity of which gives an odd aspect ABSOLUTELY I RUE 16 to everything it reflects. Again, a broken Dresden shep herdess on one corner of the well-worn mantel-board balances a tall, antique candlestick on the other. And there, too, above all things, in the recess by the fireplace is a cottage piano, which, out of tune as it is, is the cause of half the envy, hatred, and malice in which the neighbours unite when talking of " the mysteries " at No. 28, — the inmates of which consist of an impe cunious, genial, hopeful, improvident father; a per petually worried, disappointed, anxious mother ; and, as far as their offspring go, of Harold (who has not yet come in from " the office ") ; of Leah, whom we already know ; of Edith, a bright-eyed girl of sixteen, who is just now mending a pair of almost hopelessly holey socks ; and the little ones, four in number, who are, as we have seen, busily occupied discussing the merits of golden syrup.

"Three shillings was all I could get on the great-coat, mother," so saying, Leah flung herself wearily into the nearest chair. " I hadn't the money for the ticket, so it's two shillings and elevenpence-halfpenny," and with this she threw the amount on the table before her. " Oh ! dear me ! Shall we ever get out of this awful slough of despond ? It's killing you, mother, and poor dad gets thinner and thinner every week, besides which, it always seems to be press night now, he never comes in till so late, and when he does he generally brings the Colonel with him, and both seem as if they'd been " " Hush, Leah, don't before the little ones. Goodness knows, they'll find it out soon enough for themselves, poor dears, and children have such tongues, too." A key now turning briskly in the street door, a bright-eyed, handsome, fresh-coloured young fellow was the next moment in the parlour, kissing his mother and sisters by turns, selecting for that operation — when he came to them — the foreheads of the golden syrup eaters.

" I'm awfully hungry, mother," said he, divesting himself of his overcoat. " What have you got for me ? " Mrs. Bloom field had anticipated the question — for before it was uttered a savoury stew had been removed from the hob to his place at the table, where in a few minutes he was discussing its merits with a vengeance. " Edie," said he, pausing for a moment, " look in my great coat pocket over there, you'll find an evening paper. ' Double murder at Wapping,' 'Burglary at Brushfield Hall,' and a 'Bank robbery at Nottingham.' There are no end of startlers to-night." "Oh! Harold, Harold, don't before the little ones. It grieves me enough already to see them growing up so rough, rude, unkempt, and uncultivated." Then aside to the eldest of the three younger ones, — " Don't kiss the baby, Janie, dear, till you've finished your bread and treacle."