Chapter 3 | An Awkward Guinea | The Adventures of Don Lavington

It was a busy day at the yard, for a part of the lading of a sugar ship was being stored away in Uncle Josiah’s warehouses; but from the very commencement matters seemed to go wrong, and the state of affairs about ten o’clock was pretty ably expressed by Jem Wimble, who came up to Don as he was busy with pencil and book, keeping account of the deliveries, and said in a loud voice,—

“What did your uncle have for breakfast, Mas’ Don?”

“Coffee—ham—I hardly know, Jem.”

“Ho! Thought p’r’aps it had been cayenne pepper.”

“Nonsense!”

“Ah, you may say that, but see how he is going it. ’Tarn’t my fault that the dock men work so badly, and ’tarn’t my fault that Mike isn’t here, and—”

“Don’t stand talking to Wimble, Lindon,” said a voice sharply, and Uncle Josiah came up to the pair. “No, don’t go away, Wimble. Did Bannock say he should stay away to-day?”

“Not to me, uncle.”

“Nor to me, sir.”

“It’s very strange, just as we are so busy too. He has not drawn any money.”

“P’r’aps press-gang’s got him, sir,” suggested Jem.

“Humph! Hardly likely!” said Uncle Josiah; and he went on and entered the office, to come out at the end of a few minutes and beckon to Don.

“Lindon,” he said, as the lad joined him, “I left nine guineas and a half in the little mahogany bowl in my desk yesterday. Whom have you paid?”

“Paid? No one, sir.”

“But eight guineas are gone—missing.”

“Eight guineas? Missing, sir?”

“Yes, do you know anything about them?”

“No, sir. I—that is—yes, I remember now: I picked up a guinea on the floor, and meant to give it to you. Here it is: I forgot all about it.”

Don took a piece of gold from his flap waistcoat pocket, and handed it to his uncle, who looked at him so curiously that the boy grew confused.

“Picked this up on the floor, Lindon?” said Uncle Josiah.

“Yes, sir. It had rolled down by my desk.”

“It is very strange,” said Uncle Josiah, thoughtfully. “Well, that leaves seven missing. You had better look round and see if you can find them.”

Don felt uncomfortable, he hardly knew why; but it seemed to him that his uncle looked at him doubtingly, and this brought a feeling of hot indignation into the boy’s brain.

He turned quickly, however, entered the office, and with his uncle looking on, searched all over the floor.

“Well?”

“There’s nothing here, sir. Of course not,” cried Don eagerly; “Mrs Wimble sweeps up every morning, and if there had been she would have found it.”

Uncle Josiah lifted off his cocked hat, and put it on again wrong way first.

“This is a very unpleasant affair, Lindon,” he said. “I can afford to lose seven guineas, or seven hundred if it came to that, but I can’t afford to lose confidence in those whom I employ.”

Don felt hot and cold as his uncle walked to the door and called Jem; and as he waited he looked at the map of an estate in the West Indies, all fly-specked and yellow, then at the portraits of three merchant vessels in full sail, all as yellow and fly-specked as the map, and showing the peculiarity emphasised by the ingenious artist, of their sails blown out one way and their house flags another.

“Surely uncle can’t suspect me,” he said to himself; and then the thought came again—“surely uncle can’t suspect me.”

“Come in here, Wimble,” said Uncle Josiah, very sternly.

Jem took off his hat, and followed him into the office.

“Some money is missing from my desk, Wimble. Have you seen it?”

“Me, sir?” said Jem, stooping down and peering in all directions under the desks. “No, sir, I harn’t seen it. Let’s see, I don’t think I’ve been here only when I locked up.”

“By some mischance I left my desk unlocked when I went out in a hurry yesterday. Lindon here has found one piece on the floor.”

“P’r’aps tothers is there, too,” said Jem eagerly.

“No; we have looked. Call your wife. Perhaps she may have found them when sweeping.”

“Not she, sir,” said Jem. “If she had she’d ha’ told me. ’Sides, how could they ha’ got on the floor?”

“That remains to be proved, Wimble,” said Uncle Josiah, drily. “Call your wife.”

Jem went to the door, rubbing his ear, and as it happened, seeing his wife outside the cottage, telegraphed to her to come by working one arm about furiously.

Little Mrs Wimble came up in a hurry, looking scared.

“Take off that there dirty apron,” whispered Jem, making a dash at the offending garment, and snatching back his hand bleeding from the scratch of the pin by which it was fastened.

“Look at that,” he began.

“Then you shouldn’t—”

“Silence!” said Uncle Josiah. “Mrs Wimble, did you sweep up this room to-day?”

“That I did, sir, and dusted too, and if there’s any dust, it must be an—”

“Hush! Don’t talk so. Listen to me. Did you find any money on the floor?”

“Sakes alive, sir, no.”

“You are quite sure?”

“Oh yes, sir, quite sure. Have you dropped anything?”

“Yes! No! That will do.”

Mrs Wimble stared.

“Don’t you hear?” whispered Jem. “Be off!”

The little woman gave him an angry look, and then hurried from the office, looking put out and hurt.

“This money must be found,” said Uncle Josiah sternly, as soon as they were alone. “You are sure that you have seen no more, Lindon?”

“Quite, uncle. I’m sorry I forgot about the guinea I found.”

“Yes!” said Uncle Josiah, giving him a quick searching look. “You are quite certain, Wimble?”

“Me, sir? Oh, yes; I’m moral sartain.”

“I should be sorry to suspect any one, and behave unjustly, but I must have this matter cleared up. Michael Bannock is away, and I cannot conceive his being absent without money, unless he is ill. Wimble, go and see.”

“Yes, sir,” said the yard-man, with alacrity; and he went off shaking his head, as if all this was a puzzle beyond his capacity to comprehend.

“You had better go to your desk, Lindon,” said Uncle Josiah, coldly.

Don started, and mounted his stool, but he could not write. His brain was confused; and from time to time he glanced at the stern-looking old merchant, and tried to grasp his thoughts. “Surely uncle can’t suspect me—surely he can’t suspect me!” he found himself saying again, and the trouble seemed to increase till he felt as if he must speak out and say how sorry he was that he had picked up the money and forgotten all about it, when Jem returned.

“He arn’t ill, sir,” said the man eagerly, “I found him close by, at the Little Half Moon, in the back street.”

“Drinking?”

“Yes, sir, and treating a lot of his mates. He wanted me to have some, and when I wouldn’t, he said I should, and emptied half a glass over me. See here.”

He held up one of his broad skirts which was liberally splashed.

Uncle Josiah frowned, and took a turn or two up and down the office. Then he stopped before Jem.

“Go round to Smithers the constable. You know: the man who came when the rum was broached.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“Ask Smithers to bring Michael Bannock round here. I must clear this matter up.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jem; and he hurried out, while Don drew a long breath.

“Uncle does not suspect me,” he said to himself. “The scoundrel! He must have taken advantage of your back being turned to come in here. You did not notice anything, Lindon?”

“No, uncle, and I hardly think he could have been left alone.”

“But the money is missing; some of it was dropped; this man is always penniless; he has not drawn his wages, and yet he is half tipsy and treating his companions. I hope I am not suspecting him wrongfully, but it looks bad, Lindon, it looks bad.”

The old merchant sat down and began to write. So did Don, who felt better now, and the time glided on till there were the sounds of feet heard in the yard, and directly after Mike, looking very red-eyed and flushed, entered the office, half pushed in by Jem Wimble and a hard-faced ugly man, who had a peculiar chip out of, or dent in, his nose.

“Morn’, master,” said Mike, boisterously. “Couldn’t yer get on without yer best man i’ th’ yard?”

“Silence, sir!” cried Uncle Josiah, turning round, and glaring magisterially at the culprit.

“Take yer hat off, can’t yer?” cried Jem, knocking it off for him, and then picking it up and handing it.

“Give man time, Jem Wimble,” said Mike, with a grimace. “Want to pay me what you owes me, master?”

“Hold your tongue, sir! And listen. Constable, a sum of money has been abstracted from my desk, and this man, who I believe was penniless two days ago, is now staying away from his work treating his friends.”

“Steady, master; on’y having a glass.”

“He was paying for ale with a guinea when I fetched him out, sir,” said the constable. “Now, Mike, you’re wanted for another ugly job, so you may as well clear yourself of this if you can.”

“What yer mean with your ugly job?” said the man, laughing.

“You’ll know soon enough; you and four more are in trouble. Now then, what money have you got on you?”

“None ’tall.”

“Out with it.”

“Well, only two o’ these. I did have three,” grumbled the man, reluctantly taking out a couple of guineas from his pocket.

“Looks bad, sir,” said the constable. “Now then, where did you get them?”

“What’s that to you?”

“Enough for Mr Christmas to charge you with robbing his desk, my lad; and this and what I’ve got against you will send you to Botany Bay.”

“What, me? Rob a good master? Not a penny.”

“What have you done with the rest?” continued the constable.

“Never had no more, and wouldn’t have had that if I’d knowed.”

“This will do, sir,” said the constable. “You charge him here with stealing money from your desk?”

“I am afraid I must,” said Uncle Josiah.

“What, me? Charge me?” cried the man, angrily.

“Yes, Bannock, reluctantly; but it seems that you are the thief.”

“No: not me!” cried the man, fiercely. “It warn’t me. It was him.”

Don started and turned pale, as the man stood pointing at him.

“What do you mean?” cried Uncle Josiah.

“Mean? Why, I ketched him a-helping hisself to the money, and he give me three guineas to hold my tongue.”

“What?”

“And when I wouldn’t take ’em he said if I didn’t he’d say it was me; and that’s the whole truth, and nothing else.”

“Lindon, what have you to say to this?” cried Uncle Josiah.

Don thought of the guinea he had picked up, of his uncle’s curious look when he gave it to him, and as he turned red and white with terror and dismay, mingled with confusion, he tried to speak, but try how he would, no words would come.