Chapter III: A Mysterious Disappearance

MRS. WRIGHT came home about eight o'clock. Bobbie was asleep then, and her husband standing at the street door, on the watch for Esther and Lilla. He was afraid to leave the house until his wife arrived, but as she came up, he said, "I am so glad you've come, although I scarcely expected you yet."

"No! And I should not have been home so soon, only baby was so cross that I could do nothing with him. Where is Esther?" she said. "She really must take baby now." And the poor woman seemed ready to drop with fatigue.

Mr. Wright took the sleeping baby from his wife's arms, and carried him indoors. "I'll lay him down in the cradle while you get your things off," he said, as the child began to cry.

"But where's Esther?" asked Mrs. Wright, looking round the untidy kitchen, and noticing that the tea-things were still unwashed.

"She's gone to look for Lilla, and—"

"'To look for Lilla'? What do you mean, John?"

Then Mr. Wright had to tell in as few words as he could, how he had found the house deserted, when he came home at five o'clock, and how Rhoda Morris had brought Bobbie home, but could not find Lilla. Of course it was as great a mystery to Mrs. Wright as to her husband.

"Esther had nothing to do but look after the two children," she said; "and how Lilla can be lost is a puzzle to me."

"I can't understand it either. Rhoda Morris found Bobbie the other side of the common, and I will go over there now."

Just as he opened the street door, Rhoda appeared at it.

"Have you found her yet?" she asked.

"No, my girl. There, go and see if you can hold the baby for my wife a minute."

"Mother sent me down to see if I could do anything for you," said Rhoda, as she rubbed her feet on the mat.

Mrs. Wright was glad of her help to wash up the tea-things, and make the place a little more tidy and still more glad to hear all she could tell her of what had happened to the children.

While she was undressing the baby, there came a knock at the door, and Rhoda put down the saucer she was wiping and opened it.

"Is that you, Rhoda Morris?" exclaimed a voice outside.

"Who is it?" called Mrs. Wright anxiously.

"Mary Coppinger."

"Come in, come in; have you found Lilla?" asked Rhoda.

"No, that's what I came to see about," said the girl. She did not want to come in, for fear she should be questioned, and her share of the mischief discovered.

"Have you seen Esther?" said Mrs. Wright.

"Yes, she's just round the corner; we've been looking for Lilla."

Mrs. Wright felt very angry that Esther should send Mary Coppinger to inquire whether her sister was found, instead of coming herself. And she said, "You can tell Esther she had better not show her face here until she finds the child, and it's no good racing about the common; her father's gone to look there."

This message did not lose anything either in matter or manner when it was delivered to Esther. And the fact that Rhoda Morris opened the door, and was evidently busy helping Mrs. Wright, was commented upon with a good deal of bitterness by both girls. Esther felt herself dreadfully aggrieved.

"It's plain enough mother don't care a pin for me!" she exclaimed angrily. "It's just the same with other things. The little ones must be studied, and the little ones cared for, but nobody thinks about me. And now I'm told I'm not wanted at home at all."

This was not quite what Mary Coppinger had said, but she did not contradict the impression her words had left upon Esther's mind. Indeed, she rather fed the flame of her angry jealousy. And yet, if any one had accused her of evil speaking, she would have denied the charge with indignation.

"Where shall you go now?" asked Mary, after they had stood talking some time. "You have had no tea, I know. Come indoors with me and have something to eat, and then we'll go out again together."

Esther really was very hungry by this time, in spite of her anxiety about Lilla, and so she agreed to the plan. And the two girls went to Mary's home and had some bread and cheese before renewing the search.

Mrs. Coppinger made Esther put some biscuits in her pocket as well, just before they went out. And telling her own daughter not to stay too long, they set off together towards the town.

Just before they reached it, however, they parted, to look in different directions, and meet about the centre of High Street.

But when Mary reached High Street, she could see nothing of Esther. She waited for some time, walking up and down. But as they began to put up the shop shutters, she turned homewards, deciding in her own mind that Esther had found her little sister, and had been too impatient to take her home to wait for her arrival. She knocked at Mrs. Wright's door on her way back, and was surprised to learn that nothing had been seen of either Esther or Lilla.

Tom opened the door this time, and was not too civil in his greeting when he saw who it was. Mrs. Wright hearing her voice, called, "Tell Esther to come home now, it's no good her staying out any longer."

"I don't know where she is," said Mary shortly, and then she turned away, and Tom closed the door.

"She has gone off on a wild-goose chase by herself now, I suppose," said Tom, as he re-entered the kitchen.

He had just come in, and was going out again when he had had some supper. Mr. Wright had been in, and had now gone to give notice to the police.

"It ought to have been done before," he said, "and we should have had news of her by this time. But there, never mind, the men will all be on the look out while they are on night duty. So cheer up, Mary, Lilla will soon be lying in her own crib beside Bobbie." And he went off on his errand.

Tom insisted upon going in search of his little sister when he came in. He knew of several places where she might have strayed, he said. At all events, he could not rest indoors until she was found.

"You had better go and look for Esther, Tom," said his mother, as he picked up the bread and cheese she had cut for him.

"Oh, Esther can take care of herself," said Tom scornfully; "it's poor little Lilla I want to find."

"Well, if you see Esther, you tell her to come home at once; I want her. She'll do no good running about the streets now in the cold wind," added Mrs. Wright.

"Oh, serve her right," said Tom severely; "if she hadn't gone off somewhere, and left the children, Lilla wouldn't have been lost."

"There now, don't you say anything like that to her; you leave me to talk to her," said Mrs. Wright. "Only send her home if you see her; and mind you keep a sharp look out for her, Tom, for my sake."

Tom was very fond of his mother, and so, to please her, he did look out for both sisters. But although he was out walking up and down every well-known street and road in the locality for nearly two hours, he found neither of them.

He went home at last, tired out with his fruitless journey, and hoping to hear that both had got home by this time. But his mother opened the door and said in a weary, despairing tone, "You can't find them, Tom?"

"Hasn't Esther come yet?" exclaimed Tom, stopping short on the door-mat.

He had made sure he should find his elder sister at home, and had resolved to give her a piece of his mind, despite what his mother might say to the contrary. But his mother's news startled even him.

"Not come back yet?" he said. "I'll run to Mary Coppinger's, and see if she is there."

"It's no good, Tom; Mr. Coppinger was here ten minutes ago, and they have not seen her for nearly three hours. Mary left her at the cross roads, and arranged to meet her again in High Street, but she wasn't there."

Mrs. Wright had evidently been crying, and Tom felt more anxious than ever as he looked at her. "What can I do now, mother?" he asked helplessly.

"Go to bed, my boy; your father and Mr. Coppinger, with one or two of the neighbours, are out with lanterns now, searching the common, and the police have been told to look out for Esther as well, so nothing more can be done."

"Then I'll take my things off," said Tom. "But I shan't go to bed and leave you here by yourself." And he sat down in his father's armchair to watch and wait and listen.

Mrs. Wright felt too nervously anxious to sit still, and she was not sorry to have Tom for company. She had fetched Lilla's night-clothes downstairs, and every minute or two she would change their position in front of the fire, then walk to the door and listen. And every footstep that echoed along the quiet street made her heart flutter with hope. But, alas! it was only to end in disappointment.

Tom, seated by the fire, soon fell asleep. And his father came in about twelve o'clock, and tried to persuade his wife to go to bed, and to send Tom off too. But Mrs. Wright shook her head, and Tom slept on undisturbed until about three o'clock in the morning. Then his father came in, and insisted upon his going to bed, where he soon fell asleep again.

But there was no such reprieve for the anxious parents, and both felt it was a mockery even to seem to seek any rest. Long before Tom roused up, his father was out again, to learn whether any of the policemen returning from night duty had heard anything of either of his children. Only two or three had heard that Esther was now missing, but no one had seen anything of either of them, and the day passed, bringing no tidings.

Mrs. Wright was well-nigh overwhelmed with grief and anxiety, and she blamed herself now for the angry message she had sent to Esther by Mary Coppinger when she called.

"She must have been a mischief-making slut to deliver it!" commented Tom. "And Esther was worse than a fool to believe it. I haven't patience with her, even now—she that was so particular about this, that, and the other, and always singing hymns, to go off and break her mother's heart as she is doing. I wonder whether she thinks it is a brave thing to do—whether she's a soldier of the cross now. But I hate such mockery!" And Tom would turn off in angry disdain, after giving vent to his opinion in this fashion.

He never did it before his mother now, because he knew that it pained her. Mrs. Wright would not believe that Esther was staying away voluntarily, and in this opinion, she was supported by her Sunday school teacher.

The lady came to see the bereaved mother as soon as she heard of Esther's mysterious disappearance.

"I cannot understand it at all," said Miss Egerton; "Esther is such a good girl, so regular and attentive; I never had to speak to her about looking about the room, and she seemed to enjoy singing the hymns so much."

"Yes, she did," assented poor Mrs. Wright through her tears.

But she did not tell the lady how little she practised at home what she learned at school. She did not care to think of this side of her character now. She tried to forget how proud and impatient under reproof she had lately become, how self-willed and imperious she was in her treatment of the children. She tried to ignore all this in her thoughts of the absent Esther, and that these faults had actually brought about all the trouble, she had not the slightest idea of.

So Miss Egerton's visits and talk about Esther greatly comforted her, anxious as she was. She had been very ill at first, but the claims of the other children compelled her to rouse herself, and so the household ways had gradually returned to the old ruts again.

While she was so poorly, Rhoda Morris had come in every day to nurse the baby, and do what she could to help with the housework; and Mrs. Wright had found her very useful. She was good-tempered and obliging with the children, quick and handy with the housework, a little abrupt and rough in her manners, perhaps, but thoroughly sincere in her kindness.

Mrs. Wright spoke of her to Miss Egerton one day, thinking that lady might be able to recommend her for a permanent situation. But it seemed that Rhoda had not won golden opinions at school. There was nothing positive against her, but her bustling, abrupt manner and general restlessness while lessons were going on had earned for her the character of a "tiresome girl." And although Miss Egerton said she was glad to have such a good account of her from Mrs. Wright, still she implied that it would not affect her own opinion of the girl.

It was much the same with the day-school teacher, who also came sometimes to see Mrs. Wright, and who had been able to throw considerable light upon the matter of Lilla's disappearance. She, of course, had no idea that Esther was left in charge of the house that fatal afternoon. She had seen Mary Coppinger out for a walk, and finding she had nothing special to do, she had sent her to see if Esther could come with her and practise the duet they were to sing at the concert.

Mary took her own way of performing the errand, and not until she was closely questioned afterward did anybody hear of the house door being left open for above an hour in the afternoon.

It could be understood then how the children had got out on the common. They had probably gone to look for Esther, more especially as she had promised to give them some sweets when she came back.

That Esther should do this was the astonishing thing to her teacher, as to Miss Egerton.

"She always keeps her place at the top of the class; she is such a good girl," she exclaimed, when she first heard the full account of what had taken place. "If it had been Rhoda Morris, now, I should not have been at all surprised."

"What can give you such a bad opinion of Rhoda?" said Mrs. Wright, anxious to say a word on the girl's behalf.

"Oh, I don't know that I have positively a 'bad' opinion of her," said the teacher. "But you know she is rude and rough, and has a very bad habit of—of—well, I scarcely know how to define it."

"You mean she often says, 'Oh, my goodness,' and 'Oh, my gracious,' over the slightest things."

"Yes! And I have tried again and again to break her of it, and cannot. I have told her it is little less than taking God's name in vain, when she says, 'Oh, lor a mussy,' as she does sometimes."

"Well, it is a bad habit, I admit," said Mrs. Wright, "but as to taking God's name in vain, what do you say of people who are fond of singing hymns, and declaring, 'I want to be like Jesus,' yet never once trying to follow His example? Now my opinion of Rhoda is, that she really is trying, by all sorts of little habits of self-denial, to follow in the footsteps of the Lord Jesus, whether she sings about it or not. And I am quite sure, if she thought that anything she did was harmful to another, she would try and break herself of it very soon."

But this lady like Miss Egerton, preferred to have her own opinion about Rhoda, and so she turned the conversation to other topics.

All sorts of inquiries had been made by this time about the missing girls. Mr. Wright had a theory of his own about Esther's disappearance, and the police had been put on the alert in the direction to which his suspicions pointed. But in the case of a mere baby like Lilla, no one could suggest any clue, unless she had been stolen by gipsies. And no gipsy had been seen in the neighbourhood for months past.