The Lost Lady of LoneSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The Lost Lady of Lone
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Fiction
And now the whole truth burst upon her. The watch had been recognized by
the jeweller, who perhaps had seen it in Sir Lemuel Levison's possession,
or perhaps had had it in his own for cleaning, and he had sent for this
policeman in plain clothes, who had followed her home, "spotted" the
house, and then taken out a search-warrant. Fright and rage possessed her
soul. And oh! in the midst of all, how she cursed her own folly in
secreting those dangerous jewels in the house, and her madness in wearing
the watch abroad.
"I hope you will submit quietly to the necessary search, mum. It will be
the better for you," said the officer.
Then rage got the better of fright in Rose Cameron's distracted bosom.
"I'll tear your e'en out, first, ye--" here followed a volley of
expletives not fit to be reported here--"before ye s' all bring me to sic
an open shame! Search my house, will ye? Ye daur!" and here the handsome
Amazon struck an attitude of resistance.
The policeman went to the front window, threw it up, and beckoned to some
persons below.
In two minutes, the sound of footsteps was heard upon the stairs, the
door was opened, and a couple of officers entered the room.
Rose Cameron gazed at them in terror and defiance.
"Mrs. Scott, you are my prisoner. We arrest you on the charge of
complicity in the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, and the robbery of Castle
Lone!" said the first policeman, laying his hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Tak' yer claws affen me, ye de'il!" exclaimed Rose, springing from under
his hand, and then shrinking, shuddering, into the nearest chair.
"Perkins, look after this woman, while I direct the search of the house.
You come with me, Thompson. We will go through this room now," said the
first policeman, putting his hand on the lock of the chamber door.
"Ye sell na gae into my bedroom, ye de'il! It is na decent for a strange
mon to gae into a leddy's chamber!" cried Rose, springing before him to
bar his entrance.
"Never mind her, Mr. Pryor; I'll take care of her," said the man called
Perkins, as with a firm hand he laid hold of his prisoner, and forced
her, screaming, scratching, and resisting with all her might from the
door.
"Excuse me, my girl, but this is a murder case, and we must not stand
upon politeness to the fair sex; here," added Perkins, as he forced her
down upon her chair and held her there so firmly that all she could do
was to spit, glare, and rail at him.
"Oh, my dear, good lady, do be quiet. You are in the hands of the law,
which I believe you to be as innersent as the dove unborn; but it will be
the best for you to submit quietly," said the housekeeper, who had
hitherto sat in appalled silence, taking note of the proceedings.
"I will na submit to ony sic indignity," screamed Rose, with an
additional torrent of very objectionable language.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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